


Controlled Descent

by ryttu3k



Category: Subnautica (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Planet, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Aromantic Character, BAMFs, Crew as Family, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Illnesses, Jewish Character, Multi, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Rebellion, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Survival, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-01-15 05:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 51,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k
Summary: In the aftermath of a devastating crash on an alien planet, of a lethal alien bacteria, Yu looks for a cure, and Keen looks for a reason to keep going. Ozzy fights to hold his loved ones together; Danby tries not to fall apart. And Ryley, Ryley is getting in over his head...





	1. Chapter 1

It's raining.

Jia Yu is treading water in an alien ocean. Half a kilometre beneath her feet, her best friend's broken body is settling into the sand; rising in the distance is the wreckage of her ship, her home for the last year.

The sky is grey, the waters around her choppy. She's soaked to the bone, shivering; every limb is aching from her desperate swim to the surface. Her throat is raw from the water she's swallowed. Her knuckles are white from the death grip she has on her PDA, because if she drops it, she doubts she'll be getting it back.

"Sta-" Her voice cracks, and she coughs painfully. "Status of Aurora."

The PDA considers for a moment, then beeps. "The Aurora suffered orbital hull failure," it says cheerily. "Cause: unknown. Seventy-eight human life signs detected aboard the Aurora and its surrounding waters."

Jia exhales harshly.

Seventy-eight. There had been over a hundred and fifty on the Aurora - when, fifteen minutes ago? Twenty? When had her life irrevocably changed? When had she gone from Chief Technical Officer on an important but routine mission, to survivor of a catastrophe?

"Closest life signs."

"Lifepod 3, two life signs, 1,022 metres. Lifepod 6, two life signs, 1,333 metres. Lifepod 17, two life signs, 1,385 metres. Lifepod 5, one life sign, 1,487 metres."

"And the Aurora?

"Sixty-six life signs, 1,836 metres."

Sixty-six on the Aurora; eight others, including her, that she knows of, in the water or in the lifepods. Then there's only four others. Twelve who launched and who are still alive.

There had been fifty lifepods on the Aurora. How could only twelve still be alive?

The PDA is showing the locations now, and they're all between her and the ship, within a few hundred metres of each other. Jia sets her jaw and starts to swim, her eyes fixed on the landmark of the ship, not thinking about what's beneath her, not looking down.

"Total lifepods launched?"

"Unknown."

"How can there be only twelve people who survived launching in the lifepods? There were fifty of them! They can't all have died!"

"Unknown."

She growls, half considering letting the PDA sink to the bottom of the ocean anyway. "Fine. Fine. Continue monitoring. Are you getting any broadcasts?"

The PDA scans for a moment, and then explodes with a cacophony of voices.

Jia almost drops it. Distress calls, pleas for help; a chill runs down her spine as she hears the Mongolian emissary's last words. And yes, she had been lucky, lucky indeed to land close enough to the ship, because the last words of the lifepods that landed in water so deep it might as well be bottomless are enough to give her nightmares for a month.

The PDA bleeps again, interrupting a plea from Ozzy from the cafeteria. (Lifepod seventeen. She's on her way, though, she's getting there.)

"Life signs seventy-seven."

"What happened?" she snaps, the faintest hint of panic in her voice. "Who died?"

"Unknown. Lifepod 4 offline."

She closes her eyes, and keeps swimming.

Next time, she feels the explosion, shock wave shivering through the water. "Which one?" she asks wearily; she's half swimming with her eyes closed, just enough to keep her pointed vaguely at the Aurora.

"Lifepod 6 offline. Total life signs, seventy-five."

She's strayed a bit, it seems. Refocusing her eyes and blinking the sting of salt water away, the signals on the PDA show she's missed lifepod 3; the closest is now lifepod 5. She squints at it, then swears at the thin stream of smoke; without thinking, she launches herself through the water again.

Three people have died just in the process of her swimming back to the ship. She's not about to see it be a fourth.

The rain is still falling when she reaches the pod, little rivulets running down the titanium sides, turning the ladder slick and slippery. She makes it to the top anyway, wrenching open the top hatch and spluttering a cough at the smoke that bellows out; without thinking, she drops inside.

The main computer and analysis is smouldering. Jia grabs the fire extinguisher from the ground and smothers the growing flames, fans the smoke up to the open hatch.

There's just one occupant, still strapped in and slumped against the restraints, face covered in blood; there's a nasty gash crossing half the length of his forehead. She struggles with the restraints before it finally gives up with a bit of percussive maintenance, and the guy groans, sliding unceremoniously to the lifepod floor.

"Sorry," Jia mutters, rolling him over on to his back. She vaguely recognises him, she thinks, one of the support crew, maintenance or something. "Hey! Can you hear me?"

His eyelids flutter, then open; he looks foggy. Unspeaking, he gazes at her, then reaches up with a shaky hand to touch the head wound.

"Watch it," she says, and catches his wrist. "You're bleeding. It's probably shallow, I can't tell properly without a scanner."

No one had ever said that she had a good bedside manner. She feels in over her head. Jia exhales harshly, then stands.

One med kit in the storage section, a couple of flares, some nutrient bars and bottles of water. No scanner. Grabbing the kit and a bottle, she crouches by the guy again and starts wrapping the wound, pushing the bottle into his hand. "What's your name?"

He blinks slowly at her. "Ryley," he says, and his voice slurs. "R'binson. Non-ess - non-essential systems maintenance."

"Right," she says, and tries to smile. "Well, you've probably seen me around. CTO Yu."

He tries to nod, stops short as pain lances across his face. "Mm-hmm."

"Try not to move your head, yeah?" Jia exhales, closing his hands around the bottle before sitting back on her heels. "Have a bit of water. I'm going to have a recce."

"Mm-hmm."

The air outside of the pod is distinctly less smokey; Jia is wondering vaguely if she should get Ryley to climb up the ladder and decides against it. Between the rain and the waves, even a smokey, broken lifepod is probably safer, at this point; she has to work hard to keep her balance on the wet surface.

But she's smiling, now, because in the distance she can see rescue teams from the Aurora. Jia waves one arm and sends a ping with her PDA, gets an answer in response, tries not to laugh too giddily before poking her head back in.

"Hey, Robinson!" she beams, "We're fine, now. Rescue team is coming."

"Okay." His voice is very small. "Um - what happened?"

Right. Head wounds. Jia winces, then slides back down the ladder, settling against the side of the pod. "Something hit the Aurora," she says softly. "We're not sure what, yet. There was an emergency evac. I guess something got you pretty good?"

"Mm." Ryley doesn't nod, just points at a loose panel; there's a smear of blood across it. "That, I think. I don't remember."

She tries to smile reassuringly. "It's okay, head wounds do that. What date do you remember it being, and the time?"

He's lost about two hours, all in; probably only half an hour before the injury, taking his unconsciousness into account. It's not all bad news, and he seems visibly relieved that he hasn't lost too much.

In terms of time, at least. His expression twists when she tells him there's only seventy-five life signs left, that the Aurora will likely never fly again. Even now, she's trying not to think about it, trying to ignore their present reality - that they're stranded, that they're going to have to survive until rescue can come or die trying.

There's a thump. Ryley starts violently, but Jia brightens up, scrambling back up the ladder. "You're the best thing I've seen today," she tells the rescue team, grinning. "Give me a hand, he's wounded."

She's just got Ryley to his feet, one of his arms slung over her shoulders, when one of the rescue team slides down the ladder as well. Jia's brow furrows, taking in their appearance.

It's not just the standard environmental suit. This is the full hazard reduction suit, the symbol for biohazard protection clear on the upper arm. "What's going on?" she asks slowly, tightening her grip on Ryley's wrist.

The rescuer glances at the water around the lower hatch. "Have you gone in the water?"

She nods. "I came from lifepod 2. I was about a kilometre and a half away. He hasn't gone in, just me."

Glancing at the two of them, Ryley held up by Jia, his head roughly bandaged, the rescuer shakes their head. "You'll both have to go into quarantine on the Aurora, then," they say, and their voice is uncertain. "There are high levels of bacteria in the water. We suspect it can be contracted and spread through skin contact."

Jia loses her grip. The rescuer grabs for Ryley before he hits the floor; he's gazing up at her with something like terror in his eyes.

He had been uninfected, here in the lifepod. He had been safe from the bacteria - until Jia had shown up, had used her bacteria-covered hands to bandage his open wound, had pressed his hands around the water bottle with her own hands.

Whatever is in the water, whether it be simple bug or lethal pathogen, she's likely contracted it on her kilometre and a half swim for safety. In trying to save Ryley, she's given it to him, too.

She's condemned him.


	2. Chapter 2

A hundred metres deep trapped in a lifepod with a stranger with an angry alien creature outside is a bad time for Oswald 'Ozzy' Echols to learn he's prone to claustrophobia, but there they are.

There's another bone-shuddering clang. Ozzy doesn't scream this time, but it's a near thing; he's huddled on the storage bench at one side of the lifepod and wishing dearly for enough room to pace, his fingers forced into his curls.

His companion - can't remember her name, one of the engineers, she only comes by the cafe on occasion - jumps when he does, then glares at him. "Will you _calm down_?" she hisses, "It's not going to do us any good if you have a freak out!"

Ozzy glowers at her. "Got any better ideas?" he snaps back, wincing at the higher pitch, "There's a big fuckin' alien snake thing outside and we're underwater! We don't even know what happened to the ship!"

She groans, leaning back in her seat. "The scanners say there's others out there. We just have to be patient. Calm _down_."

As if proving his point, there's another clang; this time, the entire pod rocks.

Ozzy does yelp again, scrambling to the other side of the bench away from the thump. It's too small, the lifepod. There's no room to pace, and no room to hide away from the creature aside that likely wants to rip them open. He can feel his heart racing, knows his breathing is coming short and sharp; has to fight hyperventilation and panic.

They'll come. Someone will come.

Standing abruptly, he takes a few steps up the ladder, peering through the upper hatch. There's sky above, distant but visible; he wonders how long he can hold his breath, how fast he can swim.

"What are you doing?"

"Tryin' to work out how long it'd take to swim to the surface." He swallows roughly. "And if the snake thing can swim faster than us."

It's a long way up. A long way up through an alien ocean, with alien fish and alien snake monsters. Red fish with very sharp teeth, a glimpse of some angry grey shark thing; he starts as the red fish snaps after another and a cloud of yellow swirls through the water.

Yellow blood. Good to know.

There's something else, now, though. Something with arms and legs; something with weird bulges on either side but otherwise humanoid. Ozzy straightens up sharply, presses his eye against the glass.

"What? What is it?" asks his companion, and he's about to answer when there's a shudder through the lifepod that nearly knocks him from the ladder, followed by a flash of light so bright he's dazzled.

He slides down the ladder, nearly hitting the floor, nearly stumbling into the new bulge in the lifepod skin. "I think someone's comin'," he says, "But so's that thing, too!"

It happens pretty fast, afterwards. A ping on their PDAs, telling them to stand well back from the top hatch and to prepare for water. The top hatch opening, and a diver in an Alterra protective suit slipping in with the deluge, two spare air tanks in their arms. The snake thing hitting the wall of the lifepod again, two large fangs finally breaching the hull.

"Time to go!" their rescuer says, shoving air tanks at them. Ozzy grabs his, nearly drops it, and straps on the mask with shaking hands. "I distracted it with a flare, but it hit the wall of the pod. It'll keep it busy while we head to the surface. Hold on to the rope, and seaglide will help. Ready?"

_No!_ "Y-yeah."

"Right. Hatch opening!"

The wait for the lifepod to fill up enough for them to swim through the hatch is torturous. Their rescuer has closed the hatch enough for the water to enter but not the snake thing, and Ozzy huddles against the wall of the pod well away from the gash, tries not to hyperventilate into his mask, watches and watches and -

"Okay - _swim_!"

The rescuer throws the hatch open fully and Ozzy flails after them, clinging to the rope like the literal lifeline it is. They had landed in a field of red grass, tall spires of rock reaching for the surface; he has just enough time to catch sight of the snake thing still determinedly attacking the lifepod and flare before he's pulled upwards by the rope.

Up and up, away from the snake, onwards to the surface and freedom.

There's a boat waiting for them, a glorified raft with another rescuer in full protective gear, too. Ozzy clambers aboard and pulls off his mask, breathing in sweet, fresh air; it's raining, and he lets the water cleanse him.

"Going to rendezvous with team three, we'll drop these two there," the rescuer on the boat tells their saviour, "Then go for seven and nineteen."

"Other lifepods?" Ozzy asked shakily.

The boat rescuer nods once. "Couple of signals further south. Team three will take you back to the Aurora."

He nods uncertainly, glances at his companion. "Yeah. Okay."

A couple? Just a couple? The Aurora had fifty lifepods - were there so few who made it? He can see the ship from here, more or less intact but billowing smoke. What had happened to it? Ozzy swallows, slumping back against the side of the boat as it jets towards another lifepod, this one actually floating.

There's another of the little boats beside the lifepod. Two bedraggled survivors are already on board, someone who he vaguely recognises as the CTO clambering on board too; they're surrounded by water but Ozzy's mouth still goes dry when he sees the two suited rescuers helping a limp, bloodied figure out of the lifepod too.

"Ryley?" he whispers.

He knows that damaged figure being helped into the boat, a bandage obscenely white against his dark hair. Ryley Robinson is a frequent visitor of his cafe, someone Ozzy shares coffee and conversation with, sometimes a cabin mate, more often a bed mate.

More than that, though, he's Ozzy's friend. And on the Aurora, that's worth more than all the gold on the galaxy.

"What happened?" he practically demands as he transfers into the other boat, nearly tripping back into the water in his haste; Ryley slowly lifts his head at the sound of Ozzy's voice and manages a pained smile.

"Panel came loose, apparently," one of Ryley's rescuers says, "Scanner says it's just a concussion. Head wounds always bleed a lot."

The CTO hasn't looked up all this time. Her hands are red with what Ozzy is realising is Ryley's blood.

He's found a seat next to Ryley, wrapping an arm protectively around his shoulders. Gratefully, Ryley sags against him; Ozzy can smell blood and smoke. "Okay," he breathes, forcing a smile to his face. "See, man? Just a crack on the head. Don't expect a free coffee or nothin'."

He gets a laugh from that, at least. He's not moving his arm.

There's eight of them in the boat, now. Him and Ryley, the CTO and his engineer companion, the two others, the two from the other rescue team. His own rescuers retrieve the oxygen tanks, then prepare their leave.

"Haven't had a chance to brief these two on the situation," one of them says, "You wanna do that?"

"Uh, no. No, I don't." Rinsing blood off the protective suit, they give Ozzy's rescuer a dirty look through the mask. "Thanks a ton."

The engineer clears her throat obviously. "Sorry, situation?"

Ryley's hand slips into Ozzy's own, squeezes, clings.

Groaning, the rescuer shakes their head. "The short version is that there's a bacteria in the water," they say bluntly as the other boat takes off. "As far as we can tell, it can be contracted and transmitted through skin contact. As soon as you touched the water, you were likely infected."

"They were the one who opened the hatch in the first place!" she shouts back.

"From what Jax said, you were already in danger."

"So you just exposed us anyway?"

Ozzy is silent. He understands, now, why Ryley took his hand - to reassure him to tell him that touch is okay. But what he doesn't understand is how it happened in the first place, how he became infected in a lifepod completely above the water, with no need to swim to safety, no chance of flooding.

"It's my fault," the CTO says, as if guessing his thoughts. "I didn't know - I had to swim to safety, I didn't _know_..."

Ryley nudges her foot with his. "Told you," he mumbles, and he sounds so tired. "It's not your fault."

"It is. Completely. But thanks for saying, anyway."

With a sigh, Ryley closes his eyes, rests his head against Ozzy's shoulder like he's trying to draw strength from him. He hasn't replied to the CTO, and Ozzy can't help but wonder if maybe he does blame her, if only a little; never speaking of it, never accusing her openly, but quietly, wordlessly agreeing that, yes, she's the one responsible for any infection in the first place.

It's a long, long ride back to the Aurora.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warnings for hallucinations / unreality / mind control (mesmer, it's a mesmer) and emetophobia.

"Look at it, Alastair. Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Swirling teals and blues, shot through with iridescent golds and inky aubergine, it ripples with light. Here in this dark place, it's a beacon, a single shining spot of hope amidst despair; it can save him, if only he can reach it.

He knows this, because it's his mother telling him so, and his mother has never led him astray.

"You have to reach it, okay, honey? It's imperative."

He _has_ to reach it. It's imperative. Every cell in his body yearns to reach for it; he was _made_ to go to the exquisite creature gazing at him with compassion and love from the outside.

"It's outside, honey. You need to let it in."

Outside. It's _outside_. He needs to let it in, or to go outside and be with it. He needs to go closer. He needs to bask in it.

"Let it in, Alastair."

But it's up there, and he's not. He's climbing the ladder, now. He's pressing a hand against the hatch, now. He's fumbling for the latch, now, to open it up and let it in.

Alastair Danby is hurled bodily back down the ladder by the rush of sea water before the pressure slams the hatch shut again. He's dazed, barely cognisant of water that's closed over his head, barely able to push back against the floor, only aware of the spike of panic that's threatening to overwhelm him.

He had opened the hatch. Oh, stars, that monster had made him hear his mother, had made him open the hatch.

It's not a big fish. Purple and blue, yellow eyes. Turquoise fins. Carried in by the torrent of water, it darts past him, flitting from one side of the lifepod to the other, then turns and spreads the fins wide and -

"There's nothing to be afraid of."

What had he been afraid of?

What was the problem?

"It's okay, Alastair. It's safe. It's a friend. It'll save you."

He's where he should be, now. He's with the beautiful creature, and now everything will be okay. It's safe. It's a friend. It can save him.

_No! No, please!_

"Don't fight it, honey. You need to stop resisting."

Why keep fighting? He needs to stop resisting. The beautiful being just wants to help him, save him.

"Everything will be okay. Just stay still."

_It's lying!_

Everything will be okay.

Everything will be okay -

It lunges, the innocuous purple shell opening up to reveal a pair of vicious mandibles that slice into his shoulder. Suddenly, he's choking in the water; suddenly, he's bleeding, and he forces himself up, grabs the fire extinguisher from its bracket, and slams it into the monster.

It hits the wall. He doesn't stop, can't stop, can't stop moving until the water around his thighs is swirling with yellow blood, and Alastair stumbles into a corner and retches until his insides feel wrung out.

It's definitely dead. It has to be. He risks the briefest of glimpses, sees yellow blood and innards and bright green pustules and swirling, swirling turquoise fins, and -

He squeezes his eyes shut. Backs into the opposite corner, hits the storage bench, and scrambles up on to it. Huddles into the smallest ball he can make himself and starts to cry.

It takes him a good ten minutes, more or less, for him to cry himself out, and when he does finally reach for his PDA, his hands are still shaking so much he can barely switch it back on and open the log recorder, working entirely by touch. Taking a few deep breaths, forcing each shuddering exhalation through his lips, Alastair swallows, then starts to record.

"I'm not really a doctor. I know that's what my ID says, but I never have been. Cheated the medical exams."

He has to confess. Has to let the truth be known, the truth he's carried around since his final exams.

"Wh-what does a doctor these days need to know about manually resetting bones? When was the last time a top surgeon actually cut someone open? That's what the robots are for! Doctors these days read diagnoses off computer readouts. I'm perfectly qualified for that!"

He's forcing calm into his voice, trying not to hyperventilate. Panic is making him sound demanding and shrill; he hopes he at least sounds authoritative.

"But what good is it when I'm not connected to the main network? I'm bleeding. I've been bitten by some creature w-with glowing green pustules growing on it. The only thing I learned in medical school was how to lie convincingly. What the hell do I know about treating possibly diseased alien bites?!"

Alastair has to stop there, press both hands to his mouth. He feels like he might be sick again. The stench of blood, bile, and sea water is heavy in his nose. The creature that stole his mind and his self control is probably dead, but there's probably more out there. He's nearly three hundred metres deep and he doesn't know, doesn't know if help is on its way.

"Oh, stars," he says, and it comes out as a whimper. "I think I'm actually going to die down here."

As final words go, they're not inspiring ones. But he can't think any more. He can't do any more. All he can do is end the recording, his last confession, then curl back into his ball and wait to die.

And then -

And then, he doesn't.

And then, rescue comes.

And then, he hears a thump and feels the shudder through the skin of the lifepod, and curls in tight, and does not open his eyes. The hatch opens, the water pours in, and he imagines turquoise and blue swirls.

There are hands pulling at him, and he keeps his eyes shut and his ears covered, doesn't look, doesn't risk it even as there's something being pressed against his face, cold, dry air puffing against his lips. Something tight being wrapped around his wrist, and the water, the water pouring back in, rising higher, higher -

Alastair keeps his eyes shut. Covers one ear with one hand even as his other wrist is tugged forward by an irresistible force, even as he's dragged out of the lifepod. And the water is growing warmer, and the pressure growing less; and his eyes are still closed but he can feel air now, cool air and clean rain even as he's manhandled out of the water.

("What's up with him?"

"Don't know. Injury looks superficial. Probably just hysterics.")

And then, he's back in the Aurora, huddled in a corner of what he'll later learn is one of the docking bays. All around him are people - people talking, people shouting, motion and noise and chaos choking the familiarity from the ship.

He keeps his eyes shut. Keeps his ears covered. Unfurls when someone slaps a bandage over his wound then balls up again.

If he opens his eyes, he knows, _knows_ he'll just be back there - in the water with the monster, helpless, unable to resist its siren song. That he'll just hear his mother again, telling him that everything is okay. That he'll see the swirl of turquoise and blue and lose himself, his self-control, the elegant narrative he's structured to cover up his own hopelessness and uselessness.

It's safer, this way. Safer to keep his eyes shut. At least this way, when he dies, he won't have to see it coming for him.

Alastair keeps his eyes shut, and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be scarce-ish for the next month or so while I work on uni stuff! I have the next two chapters written and will definitely be updating, just a bit more slowly than usual. Thanks in advance for your patience!


	4. Chapter 4

The worst part is, the island is actually beautiful.

If this was where the Degasi crew had met their end, then it was at least in a pleasant place. Noah Keen, warming up in the sun and gazing up at the structures up on the hill, would rather not end up like them, and with his PDA picking up signs of life, he knows that rescue is coming soon.

Soon, he'll be back on the Aurora, in command or not. He knows the captain may not have survived. He knows that the bridge is not designed to withstand the force of impact, even if there are crew bays where he could have sheltered, ridden out the storm. He knows that the only reason anyone on the ship will have lived, if they have at all, will be because of the captain's sacrifice.

They owe him their lives, then, to continue the mission they were given. Assuming the ship is unable to fly, assuming they will be on the planet for a while, he will have plenty of time to focus on the Degasi.

And it would be fine, except Jochi Khasar is dead, and will never, ever know how close he came to finding his friend and mentor.

If Noah was more prone to shows of emotion, perhaps he could mourn him properly. As it is, he sits in the sun, looks up at the rusting, damaged bases, and loses himself in memories.

They had been an interesting pair, the two of them; the methodical Alterran officer and the charismatic Mongolian emissary. Jochi had had very few to confide in his fears about Paul Torgal, whether his mentor was still alive to be found; he had chafed at the inability to start the search until nearly ten years had elapsed.

Noah had listened.

It had been a long ten years at Torgal Corp. Jochi had still been a relative junior at the time of Paul Torgal's disappearance, not even forty, but he had been favoured. He had kept the company limping along, fighting off distant cousins who had suddenly emerged at news of the disappearance of the Degasi, predatory birds turning to swoop when they sensed the sudden vulnerability. Jochi had not known whether he could keep the company going, whether he should even try.

The Aurora opportunity had come up, and Jochi had not hesitated.

And now he was dead. Noah keeps one hand on his PDA, and very deliberately does not replay the last minutes he had heard through the static.

They had been on the Aurora for thirteen months, and Noah had hoped, selfishly, that the Degasi would not be found, that they would have another two years before returning to Federation space. Because he had found some kind of connection there, something he hadn't found before; he had not wanted to let it go.

He hadn't had much say in the matter, after all.

He's not alone for long, at least. Less than an hour has gone by before he sees the boat pulling up, two rescuers standing by a stunned-looking, soaking wet crew member. One jumps out on to the sand and waves up at him; Noah hurries to meet them.

It has not escaped his attention that they're wearing biohazard suits.

"The captain?" he says as his first words, his first and immediate duty.

"I'm sorry, sir. He didn't make it."

"I see." Noah closes his eyes. "Then I will assume command when I arrive. What's the ship's status?"

The two rescuers exchange a look; Noah watches them closely. One finally concedes, admitting, "Actually, sir, you'll have to go into quarantine when we return. We, ah - we have reason to believe that there's a bacteria in the water that can be transmitted via skin contact. If you've been exposed to it, you're going to have to be quarantined. For the sake of everyone else on the ship," he adds almost pleadingly.

Just what he needs. Noah nods, but otherwise doesn't let the jolt of fear show on his face. "Understood. Please let me know what the situation is."

It's dire.

There are seventy-five of them alive - seventy-five for now, given that the three engineers who had shut down the engines from causing a catastrophic explosion had done so at the expense of their own lives, and are now lying sedated as they die from radiation sickness. The force of the landing had torn open the lower decks; all who had been exposed to water there were being quarantined, along with those who had ejected in the lifepods.

Those who were still alive, at any rate. Most of them had landed outside what was apparently only a two kilometre by two kilometre crater, the water outside kilometres deep and filled with hostile leviathan-class creatures. A tiny lifepod... well, it would have been no protection, not at all.

There's about two dozen of them that will end up in quarantine, all in all. Two dozen people whose lives now had a question mark hovering over them. They don't know what the bacteria will do, whether it will be a simple illness or something more lethal, but they can't, won't risk the rest of the ship with even accidental exposure.

Chief Medical Officer Geoffrey Slade had assumed command, one of the most senior staff and uniquely positioned to deal with a medical crisis. Noah had only nodded once at this confirmation. Slade was a stickler for the books, but an excellent doctor.

They've repurposed one of the cargo decks for the quarantine. It's big, it has an exterior entrance to avoid contaminating the rest of the ship, and it's easily isolated from the other decks. Grudgingly, Noah has to admit it's a good solution, even if he's fairly sure he's going to be missing his bed sorely within a day.

Inside is a glum silence. The nature of the quarantine has meant that they're effectively looking after themselves, and Keen walks in alone, taking in the people leaning against walls, clustered in small groups. They've set up a little communications area, at least, and it's there that Keen goes first.

"Slade," he says once he's settled in, "What's our position?"

CMO Slade brushes back his hair. "Not ideal," he admits, shaking his head. "Including you, there's twenty-six infected. We have three engineers dying of radiation sickness in my medical bay, and of the remaining forty-six, around thirty have various injuries from the crash, four in critical condition. The main drive has shut down and been stabilised, so we've avoided an explosion, but we're going to have to go easy on power consumption."

Noah exhales. "Food? Water filters?"

"The filters are currently our top priority - we're going to have to be careful to avoid any contamination, and we're running air scrubbers around the clock in case it's airborne. Food is going to have to be nutrient bars for the foreseeable future, and you're on your own with medical staff if Danby really is, uh, incapacitated, since we can't risk non-infected staff coming in." The man pulls a face. "Frankly, we don't know how long we're going to be here before help comes, and even if help _can_ come. The scans indicate that it was some kind of energy pulse from an island here in the crater that shot us down. Our first priority needs to be ensuring that there are no hostiles here, otherwise quarantine and bacteria will be the least of our worries."

Shot down... Noah winces. "Fine. Take whoever is necessary to investigate, but go carefully."

Slade clears his throat. "Actually, sir, we were rather hoping that _you_ would lead that mission."

"But I've been exposed to the bacteria."

"Exactly," Slade says.

_...and thus, my life is already at risk,_ Noah mentally finishes. "I see. In that case... do we have enough resources to fabricate a Cyclops?"

 

They go to the other island. Find the purple tablets and alien artefacts, find their way inside.

There are no hostiles here, not any more. The weapon is set to fire automatically, and only someone uninfected can shut it down. If any help comes, they will suffer the same fate.

And Noah knows, then, that if they don't find a cure here on the planet, then he and the other infected will never leave it. The weapon was created as a quarantine in its own right. Any attempt at leaving, and they would risk a pandemic that could wipe out the Federation as they know it.

Because the bacteria is lethal. It's lethal beyond anything Noah has ever encountered. The PDA has made the link between whatever has infected them and the Kharaa conflict raging in parts of the galaxy widely designated as no-go zones, and they, they are its latest victims.

It's a long trip back to the ship. Noah does not tell the Cyclops crew that they're all dying; from the anxious looks they're giving each other, he suspects that they wouldn't want to know anyway.

Back in quarantine, and back, straight away, to the communication hub. Noah doesn't even try to hold his fatigue back.

"We're dying," he says bluntly when the comms open; Slade blinks. "The bacteria is lethal. There aren't any hostiles, the weapon is set to automatically destroy any ship attempting to arrive or leave. It can only be shut off by someone who isn't infected, and whoever does so will risk infection anyway. We have some leads on research the precursors here were doing, I intend to follow them up and see what we can find."

Slade exhales slowly. "I see," he says, and his voice remains even. "In that case, I will ensure that we remain isolated from anything that may be carrying the bacteria. That has to be our first priority now."

Noah nods. "I'll have CTO Yu investigate the leads, she'll be best qualified. Do what you must to keep everyone else safe."

"I will. Slade out."

Nodding absently at the blank screen, Noah turns on his heel and leaves, head down, ignoring anyone and anything in his path. His hand is white-knuckled around the PDA; he can almost see the Degasi brief scrolling down.

At least, he thinks grimly, at least now he knows how they all died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit (blame?) for the Keen/Khasar relationship goes to leoxxii.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ozzy's log. It's been two days since the crash, and... I have no fuckin' idea what to say."

Ryley, cross-legged on his bed, manages a wry smile. Ozzy is glowering at his PDA like it's done him a personal harm, hitting the button to delete the nascent recording and shaking his head.

"It's okay," he tells Ozzy quietly. "What is there to say?"

With a sigh, Ozzy lets himself fall back on his own bed. "I dunno. Just feel like I need to leave something, y'know? To show that we were here. That we were alive."

Ryley winces. "We're not dead yet."

"'Yet'."

No doubt the Alterra higher-ups had wanted to keep their eventual fates a secret. Naturally, it had spread throughout the entirety of the cargo bay within twenty minutes of Keen's return, and the fatalism had followed on its heels.

Some had turned inwards, silently waiting for their ends. Others had turned to anything that would make them forget their fates - in people, in fights and in sex; in substances, in stolen alcohol, dubiously concocted drugs. Losing themselves in whatever they could get their hands on. There has already been one fatal overdose; Ryley is fairly certain it had been intentional.

(Seventy-four.)

Two of the engineers that had stopped the leak had already died, the other would not last much longer. A handful of others, those nearest to the drive core when they had crashed, were sick as well; their fates were less certain. Another crew member had been critically injured in the crash, gone as well, others just holding on.

(Seventy-one, nearing seventy; possibly dipping into the sixties.)

They're still alive. They're still here. It has to be for something.

Groaning, Ozzy pushes himself back up. "I'm going to try again with Danby," he says abruptly. "Coming?"

Wordlessly, Ryley nods, and follows him to the very back of the cargo bay.

He doesn't know the medical officer, really; he had done his physical with one of the others, and had a tendency not to bother them with injuries in the first place. Ozzy, however, did; he had taken it upon himself to help him.

They weren't sure what had happened down there. He had come in like that, covering his ears and keeping his eyes tightly shut, and had found a corner and had stayed there, leaving only to use the bathroom. Eventually, he had unblocked his ears, had tentatively nibbled at nutrient bars and sipped at water; he still hadn't opened his eyes.

Ozzy has been trying. Trying, and talking, and being patient. Ryley just wishes he knew if it was doing anything.

It's probably a strange picture - the medical officer huddled in the corner, knees drawn up and face buried in his arms, being merrily chatted to by the cook, who occasionally casts despairing look at the hovering maintenance guy. Ryley is fidgeting, trying not to scratch at his forehead (there's a bandage over the cut now, and it's healing, it just _itches_ ), leaning back against the wall, and he does not know how long it can keep going like this.

Neither does Ozzy, apparently. With a sigh, he trails off, pushes himself up. "Okay, we're gonna just... head back for a bit. Uh, yell if you want anything, I guess?" he says with a smile that Danby can't see, and briefly, he rests a hand on his shoulder.

Danby freezes. And then, slowly, he raises one of his hands to brush Ozzy's, a tentative touch of his fingertips.

Ozzy stops short, glancing back at Ryley before crouching back down again.

"Hey," he says quietly, "Uh... what's up, man?"

Ozzy had become a cook because of the people as much as the food; Ryley is better with machines. Always has been.

This is beyond his field of experience.

Danby's eyes are still shut tightly, but this little sign of motion is the first assertive thing he's done since the crash. He's running his hands, just the very tips of his fingers, over Ozzy's hand, the movements cautious and exploratory. Very softly, he makes a wondering noise, and then, finally, speaks.

"It made me hear things when I saw it," he whispers. "It didn't make me _feel_ them. If I can feel you, then - I'm not there?"

Ozzy straightens up with understanding. "In your lifepod," he clarifies, "You saw something, and it made you hear things? And that's why you're keeping your eyes shut?"

Danby nods; Ozzy bites his lip. And then he moves, settling in to flank Danby, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "If touch helps," he murmurs, "Then I'm here. We're on the Aurora. You're safe. Ryley," he adds, and Ryley starts; "C'mere. Danby, my friend Ryley is here too, okay?"

Self-consciously, awkwardly, Ryley pushes off from the wall to join them on the floor, bumping his shoulder against Danby's. "We're on the Aurora," he echoes, feeling he should at least contribute _something_. "We're in one of the cargo bays. There's about... I'm not sure, twenty, thirty of us in here. See," he adds in sudden inspiration, taking one of Danby's hands and brushing it lightly against the floor. "Do you feel that? The bottom of the lifepods feel different, so we can't still be in one."

Fingertips skimming the floor like he's trying to memorise it, Danby nods slowly. Then, like a newborn, his eyelids flutter and begin to open.

"Welcome back," Ozzy says, and smiles crookedly.

Danby stares at him for a long moment, then buries his face against Ozzy's shoulder and starts sobbing.

Well, Ryley thinks with a sigh as Ozzy wraps his arms around him, it's progress, at least. He's not hiding from the world any more, he's acknowledging his trauma. It's got to be better than before.

If Danby was a coffee machine, Ryley could clean out the filters and check the power source and make sure he was running right. He just wishes he knew what he could _do_ , sitting there, watching him break down.

Danby exhausts himself soon enough. If he has been assigned a bed, he doesn't know where it is; Ozzy leads him back, slowly and carefully, to where he and Ryley have set themselves up, laying him down on Ozzy's own bed.

"Wait," Danby says hoarsely, clinging to Ozzy's hand when he tries to pull back, "I don't - I - please don't leave me."

The touch helps. Ryley can understand that, he really can, because if the simple act of sharing a bed with someone helps chase away loneliness, what must it do for trauma of the kind Danby has suffered? This is something that he can do, at least; pull his own bed closer and push them together, stretch out on his other side.

Nestled between them, Danby falls asleep almost immediately, his exhaustion winning out over fear. Ryley sighs, and peers at Ozzy over Danby's head.

"Now what?" he mouths.

Ozzy shrugs one-shouldered. "Just stay with him, I guess." His voice is soft, but Danby still doesn't stir. "Are you okay with this?"

All he's had is a crack on the head. He can't even begin to understand what Danby has gone through. "Yeah. If he needs you -"

"Us," Ozzy interrupts.

Ryley trails off, confused.

"Couldn't have done it without you, y'know?" Ozzy says, smiling wryly. "With the whole... touching the floor thing. I didn't even think of that. You helped ground him. He might not have opened his eyes without that. He's gonna need you too, Ryley."

"You were the one talking to him in the first place." He sighs, and the puff of air ruffles Danby's hair. "I guess we just take things as they come. First, we should try to find another bed."

Three grown adults on two single beds pushed together make for a bit of a tight squeeze. It's not so bad now, but what about later, when they start getting sick? They have no idea what form the illness will take; they probably won't _want_ to be in such close quarters when feeling so sickly.

Already, the place feels like a hospital ward. While the higher-ups have partitioned-off sections of their own, and they've already set up bathrooms and shower rooms on both sides of the cargo bay, the rest of them have beds set up in rows (in theory. Plenty of others have pushed their beds together too, taking comfort from each other), enough for roaming medical staff to check on each patient as they lie dying in their quarantine.

Except, the only medical staff they have is currently lying asleep in Ryley's arms, having undergone a trauma he can't even start to understand. Except, no one will be coming to help them. Except, when they start to get sick, they'll be on their own, the rest of the ship staying far away, letting them die alone.

He doesn't know how fast the disease will progress. It could be days, or weeks, or months. But sooner or later, they'll start to die. They'll be trapped in their quarantine prison, watching friends and companions and co-workers die in the next bed over, and no one will come to save them.

He supposes once they're all dead, the rest of the crew will don the biohazard suits again. Incinerate their bodies, sterilise the deck. Erase any trace of them ever existing. If no help ever comes, then their lives will come to a slow, painful, undignified end.

"Ryley?" Ozzy murmurs worriedly; Ryley snaps a smile over his fear.

"Sorry. I was about to sleep. Just thinking."

Weakly, Ozzy laughs. "Sounds dangerous."

"You have no idea," Ryley says, and closes his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

The worst part about it, Jia thinks, is the helplessness.

There are twenty-six of them in quarantine, and all twenty-six of them know what their eventual fate is to be - to get sick and die, with no way to change it. There's no cure that they know of, no hospital they can show up at and get treated for; they are on their own.

The uninfected are staying isolated, and that is a mixed blessing. She knows that there are qualified medical staff there, that there are resources they're blocked from in their cargo bay prison, that they must be feeling equally as helpless as the infected.

But it does mean that if anyone is going to act, it's going to be the infected themselves.

She's been pouring over every scrap of information Keen has been able to bring back from the alien structure - the Quarantine Enforcement Platform, it's been named by the computer (and isn't that bitterly appropriate? In enforcing the planet's quarantine, they've forced the Aurora to inflict their own).

If only from a technological perspective, it's an amazing achievement - the power that would be needed for it, the solid-state computers, the near-indestructible alloy the whole structure is built from. If she had access to her labs and a sample, she would be running every test she could think of on it, and come up with a few more for good measure. Even now, she longs to take a Seamoth over, see if she can actually learn anything more.

Jia has the feeling that even if she had a lifetime, she still wouldn't learn everything she could about their technology. As it is, she may not even have a month.

They're still dying. Still racing the clock.

The quarantine platform, responsible for their fate, ironically may lead them to their safety. She's been running translation programs, looking for patterns, examining everything she can about the information downloaded to Keen's PDA and copied over to her's. The information is corrupted, sometimes missing entirely, but there's enough to get a vague understanding of what it's saying, and what it's saying is that there's the potential for hope.

She's been able to identify the word used to indicate a disease and, related, for something or someone diseased. She thinks one of the words used often in the linked media could be 'research'. She definitely knows 'facility', or close enough. And even without speaking the same language, even with the precursors potentially being long lost, she knows how to read coordinates when she finds them.

The only problem is that what she's almost positive is a disease research facility lies eight hundred metres below the surface, and the sea floor in that specific spot is the border of a shady kelp forest and a sunny plateau of swaying red sea grass that barely hits a hundred. There's a cave system under there, she can only assume, but the Aurora's radar can't penetrate the ground in low-power mode; if they're to find the cave entrance, it will have to be the old-fashioned way.

_Keen._

She finds him over by the coffee machine, gazing at the wall with the distant, world-weary expression most of them have been wearing lately. "Tell me about the place you landed in," she says without preamble, "I'm looking for cave entrances, and that area was riddled with holes. Did you see anything?"

He frowns at the abruptness, then shrugs and simply goes with it. "I didn't have much of a chance to look," he says with a shake of the head. "The ravine I landed in wasn't very deep - only about three hundred metres. I swam straight up and found myself almost at the island."

"I want to go underneath it. See these topo maps?" Almost shoving the PDA in his face, she adds, "Some of those pits go five hundred deep, and I'd be willing to bet there's an extensive system under there. Could lead to our missing facilities."

Keen exhales slowly. "I intend to return to the island," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Try to learn what happened to the Degasi. Carry out the mission while we can. Alright." Still gazing at the PDA, he nods once at Jia. "I will assemble my team. If you can take us to the island, then you can explore the area at the same time."

She grins, and feels a bit of the weight on her chest lighten. "I'll let you know when I'm good to go."

Keen hesitates, then reaches out to touch her arm. Jia stops in her tracks, suddenly uncertain at the contact. "I know why you want to go," he says quietly, "And I understand. If we can save anyone else, despite all the loved ones we've already lost..."

"Then we owe it to them to try."

Her voice has caught; she feels lost. Memories of laughter over shared coffee, and stolen kisses, and plans for the future - they're hopelessly tangled together with the darker ones, the feeling of a hand being torn out of hers, the sight of blood in the water.

"You and Emery Berkeley," Keen says, and it's still quiet, still almost hesitant. "There was something between you, wasn't there?"

She nods stiffly. "Nothing official, since I was his direct superior, and..." Jia shakes her head. "It wouldn't be a balanced contract. We had plans, once the Aurora mission finished..." Steels herself, and asks, "You?"

He looks away. "Presumably, at the end of the mission, he would have returned home. Told the shareholders that the Degasi was lost, continued running the company. We could have seen each other, if we had wanted. If we had seen a way to keep things going."

_Jochi Khasar? Huh._

Jia blinks, then returns the gesture that Keen had made earlier - a brief touch to the arm, a little thing, the tiniest contact that shouts, 'I understand'. "For our loved ones," she says firmly.

"For our loved ones."

She nods, then turns and walks away. She has a mission to prepare for.

 

Jia has always been one for action. She has always favoured the idea of being able to _do_ something instead of sitting and dying by slow degrees; some of her less... conventional experiments have been based on this call to act.

She's just not as fond of it when it puts others in danger.

Speaking to the engineer corp, she's already got two volunteers to crew the Cyclops with her. All they need, technically, is a three-person crew; Keen is bringing two as well, and she's busy preparing for the six of them to leave.

Keen will be staying on the island, at least for a few days, and she's not sure how much she likes the idea. Understands it anyway.

She's cross-legged on the floor going over their equipment when there's a soft cough from above. Glancing up, Jia finds Ryley Robinson there, his PDA in his hands, a half-healed scar on his forehead, and an expression of earnestness on his face.

She's been avoiding him since accidentally infecting him with a fatal alien bacteria. It's a bit of a strain on any potential relationship.

"CTO Yu," he starts awkwardly, raising one hand to run through his hair (where had he gotten hair gel in quarantine, anyway?), "I heard you were going to go on a mission to try and look for a cure?"

She gives him a bemused smile that doesn't quite hide her anxiety, and stands. "Man, nothing stays secret here," she jokes. "Yeah, what's up?"

"I'd like to go too."

Jia blinks, opens her mouth to reply and shuts it again. "I already have my crew selected," she finds herself saying, "You're not a qualified engineer or pilot, are you?"

He winces, but shakes his head. "No, but... I _am_ qualified to do systems maintenance and repair. I've been asking around, and a Cyclops needs three crew members just for piloting. If there are any hostile leviathans that damage it, though, you're going to need someone who knows their way around a repair tool."

And the thing is, it's a good point. It _would_ be immensely useful having a fourth crew member who would be able to patch up damage as it happened, who would be able to keep them running without compromising their ability to use the cameras or pilot the sub. She also knows that amongst the infected, he's the only one who is qualified in maintenance; he's the best option for the job.

She just wishes it wasn't someone she'd already signed the death certificate of.

Jia sighs, shakes her head more to clear it than answer, and Ryley's face falls. "No, sorry," she starts awkwardly, "I was just thinking. You know it's gonna be risky, right? Like, potentially life-threateningly risky? Especially if you wanna get out in the water with leviathans around!"

"I know," he says, and there's a hint of desperation in his voice that she wishes she didn't identify with so much. "But if I just stay here, I'll die anyway. At least this way I can _do_ something!"

Closing her eyes, Jia counts to five to herself, then opens them again. "Fine. Okay. We'll leave tomorrow when it gets light. Rendezvous point is the deck four door. We have repair tools and scanners onboard already. Don't be late or we'll leave without you."

Visibly brightening, Ryley nods. "I'll be there," he smiles, and hurries off again.

Jia watches him go, then groans, sinking down next to the supplies and resting her forehead against the crate.

She hopes she's not going to regret this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for lightly described sexual situations.

It's late when Ryley returns. Ozzy is half asleep, one arm lazily wrapped around Danby's (Alastair's, his name is Alastair) middle when he feels the shift in the mattress, glances over his shoulder to find Ryley slipping under the covers.

"Is he asleep?" Ryley murmurs as he lies down.

Ozzy nods, fuzzy from fatigue. "All good?"

"Mm." Ryley hesitates for a moment, then admits, "I did something you're not going to be happy with, but I'm not changing my mind on it."

That sounds... foreboding. Wincing, Ozzy carefully unwraps from Alastair and turns to face him. "What did you do?"

Ryley doesn't answer immediately, worrying at his lower lip.

Ozzy fixes him with a stare, poking his shoulder. "Come on, dude. Spit it out."

"I volunteered for the mission."

He's still half asleep. It takes Ozzy a moment to remember what mission he's talking about before recalling the rumours; that CTO Yu is going to be taking a Cyclops somewhere down deep into uncharted territory, deep into danger, for the potential of a cure.

Ozzy groans. "Ryley, what the _fuck_."

Ryley raises a hand defensively. "I can't just _sit_ here!" he argues, still whispering but heat in his voice nonetheless. "Look, I can do repairs, I can actually do something to help. Wouldn't you?"

"But you could die."

They had got the list a few days earlier. Slowly, carefully, they had worked it out; counted who was present, whose PDAs were still active amongst the uninfected, outside of their quarantine. By process of elimination, they had slowly worked out a list of every single person who had died so far.

It was a lot of people. A lot of friends. Ozzy had gazed at the list and then turned away, because of all the friends he had had on board, Ryley was the only one still alive.

And now he was willingly putting himself in danger?

"I'm dying anyway," Ryley says, and his voice is soft. "What does it matter if it's now against some hostile leviathan or something, or a week or two later from the infection? If I don't go, if I don't do what I can to try and stop this, I'd never forgive myself."

Ozzy shakes his head wordlessly, then pulls himself on top of Ryley and kisses him bruisingly, finishing with a nip to his bottom lip. "I know," he whispers, "I know. But you're all I have left."

Ryley kisses him again, softer and sweeter. "Yeah. But I could save you. You would do the same for me."

"Yeah. Also, fuck you."

He doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to think about Ryley dying on some alien planet, drowning hundreds of metres underwater, bleeding to death because some monster has sunk its teeth into him. The snake thing that had attacked Ozzy's lifepod was minuscule in comparison to some of the creatures the scanners had picked up.

And he was willingly going out there?

He's running his hands from Ryley's ribs to hips, trying to map his skin with his fingertips, trying to memorise the little catch in Ryley's breath when Ozzy brushes the sensitive spot right above his hipbones. Ryley has his hands pushed into Ozzy's hair like he's clinging, grounding himself; Ozzy is trying to memorise, preserve him.

His eyes are closed, though. If they were open, he'd see the reality of the situation. See the cargo bay, see the quarantine. With them closed, his world is small; it's just him and Ryley.

He doesn't want to let go. Doesn't want to let him go.

He doesn't want to die alone.

Ryley presses something into his hand, and Ozzy's eyes flicker open just long enough to take the tube off him (you can get anything, even in quarantine, if you know how to bargain; a small tube of lube is worth two PDAs unlocked and a cup of pilfered wine). "Okay," he murmurs against the curve of Ryley's mouth, "Okay."

The act itself is quiet. There's no real passion behind it, more a neediness; the desire to be close, to be able to immerse himself in Ryley's body; to memorise the way his lips part, the catch in his breath, the feeling of his nails running down Ozzy's back. Beneath the blanket, it's just them, and nothing can reach them - not the bacteria, not the leviathans, not Alterra.

(And, the angry, frightened part of Ozzy's brain keeps reminding him; and, if Ryley dies tomorrow, he wants to remember. Want to burn him into his skin, keep him close while he dies.)

(But he still doesn't want to die alone. Still doesn't want to let go.)

It's quiet. Ozzy has his nose pressed against the crook of Ryley's neck, breathing against his skin, clinging to him with one arm. (The other is half pinned beneath their bodies and starting to tingle with pins and needles; he's still not moving.) Ozzy's eyes are closed. He's listening to Ryley breathe.

Ryley whispers, "Danby was watching."

"Alastair," Ozzy corrects absentmindedly, then opens his eyes when the words penetrate. "Huh. Hope he enjoyed the show?"

It comes out as a question. Uncertain. He doesn't really care about being watched - stars knows their old cabins weren't exactly private - but there's a tone in Ryley's voice that suggests this is more than that.

"He didn't look happy," Ryley admits, then sighs, turning to rest his forehead against Ozzy's. "You should talk to him. I don't know."

He nods without much conviction behind it, closing his eyes again. "In the morning." (It already is morning, he can see the clock glowing faintly on someone's PDA. He knows what he means by 'in the morning'; in the morning, when Ryley's gone.)

He's dreading the dawn.

They sleep fitfully; Ozzy with anxiety, Ryley with the tension of someone who knows they have an unpleasant task when the morning comes. It's early, so early, when he stirs, feels Ryley kiss him on the forehead and whisper to go back to sleep; next he wakes, the space beside him is only just barely warm.

Ozzy's PDA is lying in the spot where Ryley was. He pretends his hand isn't shaking when he picks it up and reads the message on it.

_Didn't want to wake u. I will see u tonight I PROMISE_

Ozzy closes his eyes.

Hopes...


	8. Chapter 8

He's not sure what wakes him, at first.

Alastair keeps his eyes shut tight, frowns into the air. He's sure he hasn't been asleep all that long; normally his throat would be scratchy and his eyes rough. It can't be that late.

He runs through his checklist.

The surface he's lying on - a mattress, on the thin side, covered on the sheet. The material touching his feet - a sheet from the smoothness, blanket on top from the weight. Legs - pyjama pants. Torso - undershirt. Arms - undershirt sleeves; one arm warm under the blankets, the other goosebumped from the chill in the room. Head - resting on a pillow with a lump in it; cool recirculated air brushing his face.

(Not the lifepod. Not in the water.)

He can smell unwashed bodies, chemical cleaners in the air. There's a hint of an alcoholic tang drifting from somewhere. Alastair's nose wrinkles as he catches a whiff of vomit.

(Not throwing up in the corner of the lifepod. His mouth is clean. It's not him. He can't smell blood.)

He can hear breathing - breathing from all around him, of two dozen people sleeping, or trying to sleep, or giving up and lying miserably through the night. Someone is snoring. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear the rise and fall of voices in conversation. Over it is the ever-present hum of the air filters; he can hear the faint creak as the waves wash against the Aurora's bulk.

(Not the dead silence of being three hundred metres below the surface. Not his mother's voice, telling him to trust, trust, trust.)

He _does_ hear, much closer, the sound of movement beneath sheets, of hitched breath, a thin sound of pleasure. Alastair opens his eyes and glances sidelong, then frowns.

The blankets are covering them, the lights are dimmed, but it's still perfectly obvious what Ozzy and Ryley are doing, within arm's reach but in their own world. He can see the lines of their bodies, the movements, Ryley's hand in Ozzy's hair, can see the intensity and focus on Ozzy's face.

Alastair had kept his eyes closed to block out the world. He wonders if Ozzy is doing the opposite but for the same reason, to keep his world confined to just him and Ryley. Ozzy's eyes are open, wide, focused entirely on Ryley beneath him, and Alastair feels a surge of envy so suddenly overwhelming he can barely breathe.

He's looking at Ryley like he's his entire world, and that means that Alastair has no such place in it.

He had suspected from the start that there was something between them from the way they played off each other, the way they seemed to orbit around each other. The way that even when they shared a bed, it was Ryley that Ozzy gravitated to; that the way his attention and focus would constantly and consistently drift back to him.

Alastair knows from the way that Ozzy looks at him is not the same. Knows that he'll never be the one Ozzy gravitates to, will never be the recipient of all that intensity and focus.

Knowing that he's jealous doesn't make it hurt any less.

Ozzy lowers his head to Ryley's throat; Ryley's head slips to the side and his eyes fall half-lidded. And then they open again in surprise and meet Alastair's; for a moment, an unspoken communication passes between them.

Alastair turns on to his side fiercely and buries his face in the pillow, curls in on himself, and blocks them out.

He's not part of whatever they have. He's irrelevant, superfluous to requirements. Alastair closes his eyes and forces out the world.

 

It's morning when he next wakes, alone in their shared bed. More or less still asleep, Alastair shuffles to the bathroom, then shuffles to the coffee machine for morning rations, then shuffles over to where a few tables and chairs are set up, taking solace in heat and caffeine.

He finds Ozzy there, scrolling through his PDA and dunking his nutrient bar into his coffee. Alastair tries not to stare, taking the seat beside him.

"Does that actually taste any good?" he can't help but ask.

Ozzy grins. "Nope. But at least it makes the texture slightly less, uh, gritty."

Alastair smiles. Attempts it himself, pulling a face as he does. "...Interesting."

"That's one word for it."

It's a humourless laugh. Alastair doesn't need to ask why Ozzy seems so out of sorts, so brittle. Silently, he returns to his coffee.

Audibly, Ozzy sighs. "Hey, so," he finally says, and Alastair glances up in time to see Ozzy check for eavesdroppers; "Ryley said you, uh, saw us."

Alastair nods at his coffee. "Mm."

"Do you, um, wanna talk about it?"

"What is there to say?" He takes a gulp of coffee. It's hot, bitter.

"He said you didn't exactly look thrilled about it." A grin, but it's feeble. "I mean, if it's just the proximity or whatever, we can like... you know, find somewhere else or something."

 _If he comes back,_ neither of them say.

"Mm."

Another sigh, this one more frustrated. "Alastair," he says, and finally, Alastair looks up. "I can't fix this if you don't tell me what's goin' on."

How can he, when he can barely articulate it himself? He's glaring at his coffee, now, clinging to the cup, taking in the warmth, pouring all his focus into it. "I don't even know what to say," he finally admits, more to fill in the space. "I know how I feel, I know _what_ I feel, but I don't - know how to say it."

He bites his lip.

"Well, I'm already dying, it's not like mortification will add to that," he says with a sardonic laugh. "I was jealous. You saved me from my own head. But you look at him like he's the only one in the universe, and that there's no part for me in it."

Ozzy pulls his chair close and links their hands, and a helpless, needy sound slips past Alastair's lips. "I'm sorry," Ozzy is saying quietly, "I didn't mean to shut you out. I've lost so many friends already that... Ryley. I need him. Just to stay fuckin' _normal_ , I guess. But it's shitty to you to leave you on the side."

Alastair laughs softly, because if he doesn't, he might cry. "It's okay. Nothing about this situation is normal any more."

Ozzy smiles crookedly, one-sided. "Yeah. We just adapt the best we can."

The kiss is a gentle little thing. Ozzy's lips are dry; he's still holding Alastair's hand when he pulls back. Alastair stares at the coffee he somehow has managed to avoid spilling, then frowns. "That's -" he starts, and his voice catches. "You and Ryley. You have a non-exclusivity clause in your contract?"

A laugh - not derisive, but in genuine amusement - is not the response Alastair is expecting from Ozzy. Nonetheless, that's what he gets. "Oh, you wanna know the legit salacious bit?" he grins, and leans forward. " _Ryley and I don't have a contract_."

It's like someone has just told Alastair they don't believe in gravity. Never mind his earlier awkwardness, this is speechlessness from sheer astonishment.

Ozzy picks up on it, and smiles, shaking his head. "You're command class, yeah?"

Alastair blinks. "Yes. Why is that relevant? Is not having a contract a - a support class thing?"

"Sort of?" Ozzy shrugs, sitting back. "The thing is, the support class gets shit on the most. Like, you know how we're over capacity? They gave low command rooms to guests, engineer rooms to low support, and our rooms to the engineers."

"I know," Alastair grumbles, "I have three cabin mates."

"Poor baby," Ozzy teases gently. "Support rooms have ten. We gave up one of 'em to the engineers and now we have forty people crammed into space for thirty - less than that, actually, since one of the rooms we're basically just using to handle all our storage. Anyway, the point is, we're close. We trust each other. We don't do that contract shit, we just _talk_."

He's fallen silent again. Staring at his hands, again. He's not sure Ozzy has been intending it, but once again, he's driven it home just how isolated he has been, how isolated he still is.

His hands tighten into balls.

Ozzy notices. Sets his hand on Alastair's again.

"What I'm trying to say," he sighs, "Just... kinda badly, is that we make connections. We become _friends_. Proper friends, not just something listed on a contract as something in between 'acquaintance' and 'romantic interest'. It's fucked up - that 'friend' is less than 'romantic interest' and that 'romantic interest' is less than 'sexual partner'. Anyway, I'm aro, so I don't do the romantic bit anyway. For me and a bunch of others, the sex is casual. The friendship is the important part."

"And you and Ryley are friends, first and foremost," Alastair concludes slowly. Carefully, he sets down his mug before he drops it.

"Yeah. Ryley hooks up with other guys, I hook up with other..." He shrugs, waving his hand. "People in general. But the main relationship there is that we're friends. Like he's hot and has a great ass and I enjoy fucking him -"

(Alastair blinks, colouring slightly despite himself at the bluntness of Ozzy's words.)

"- but I'd give that up if there was a choice between that and keeping him as a friend."

He can feel the coffee sitting in his stomach, hot and acrid and stinging. Alastair stares at the floor. "So where does that leave us?" he whispers, and his voice cracks. "If Ryley is your friend and sexual partner and you're aro, is - I mean, would there be a - a place for me as anything at all?"

There's a squeak as Ozzy pulls the chair closer, this time wrapping an arm around Alastair's shoulders. "I can't give you a romantic relationship," he says, and Alastair glances up to see the small, sad smile on his lips. "But the sex I can do, if you want. And if it's friendship..."

For all his casualness, a tremor runs through him; Alastair can feel Ozzy shivering.

"We can try. With the time we have left, we can try, if that's what you want."

It's sitting there, unspoken, at the back of both their minds. That this isn't just the usual relationship dramas as to be expected in a community. That they're quarantined, infected.

Ozzy is willing to give friendship a try, proper friendship like the kind he has with Ryley. But they've had over a year to get close, and now they might only have weeks. Days.

He feels sick, and it's not just from anxiety. There's lethal alien bacteria inside him right now, and he's dying, and he's not sure there's time left to 'try'.

"I've never had friends," Alastair says, and he's still staring at the floor, trying to pretend his eyes aren't stinging. "Not like what you have. I've never had a lover. I've never got close to anyone. All I learned during my schooling was that I was more useless than anyone could see. They all saw Alastair Danby, gifted student. They never saw how much I was inhabiting someone else's skin."

Ozzy squeezes his shoulders silently.

"They decided I was a genius, so that's what I had to pretend to be, no matter what it took." _I'm a cheater and a fraud,_ he almost says but can't quite push out. "I couldn't let anyone get close. I couldn't let anyone see through all the lying. No one's ever loved me."

There are fingers on his face. He can feel Ozzy wiping away tears, pressing a kiss against the side of his head.

"Can you pretend?" he finally says, and it comes out hoarse. "Even i-if it's not real. My entire life has been a lie. For once, b-before I die, I want to live a good one. Can you pretend to love me?"

Ozzy is silent for a long moment. All Alastair can hear is his breathing, slightly quicker, slightly more unsteady than usual. He can hear the movements and sound around him, the quarantine they're in, their prison; he clings on tight to that sound of breathing like it's a lifeline.

"Yeah," Ozzy whispers, and his voice cracks. "I can do that."

"Tell me? Please."

"Love you, Alastair."

"Thanks."

Alastair closes his eyes, and smiles, and lets Ozzy lie to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be a touch delayed, unfortunately! My major work for uni is due on Sunday, so it's taking up all my time and energy. Thankfully, updates should be a bit more frequent once semester is over!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *randomly shoves OCs into crew roles* They won't have a big role, just there to fill out some extra names!

It's far too early in the morning by Noah's estimate when they gather to leave for the mission.

There's seven of them at the makeshift dock they've fabricated for the Cyclops, CTO Yu visibly yawning as she checks over their gear. The sound of water against the Cyclops and Aurora hulls is gentle; the sky is soft and quiet. Nothing disturbs them as they assemble.

"Okay, party people," she half-yawns again as she straightens up and sends it up on the lift, "Most of this shi- this stuff is for Keen's group, so keep it together. Should be able to carry it on the sled up to the island. For my three, I got reinforced dive suits for you. Hopefully we won't need 'em. Robinson, you get a nifty tool belt, it's in a locker inside marked 'tools'. We good? Okay, up we go!"

Makes sense, Noah thinks sleepily, and follows the CTO up the ladder to the upper hatch.

Their equipment is just settling in place in the loading bay when he steps off the interior ladder, and he busies himself with checking over it again. Pop habitats for three, a mobile scanning room, materials for a moonpool, should they find the space for it; they're well-equipped for the next few days, and if Noah is honest with himself, he's enjoying the excuse to leave quarantine.

He just wishes it was under better conditions.

There's a harsh squeak and a thump as one of the CTO's crew slides down the ladder using the sides, landing in a crouch. Noah frowns at him; the crew member ducks his head abashedly and hurries to the labelled locker nearby.

(Robinson, then. He's not entirely sure where he got hair gel in quarantine, either.)

"Right!" the CTO calls as the last of the seven board and the top hatch seals itself. "Some quick introductions. I'm guessing you know me and the Commander, or else you _really_ weren't paying attention at Orientation. And we have our pilot, Tai Medlin-Adams, Vivec Baird on the scanners, and Ryley Robinson on emergency repairs should we happen to pick a fight with a leviathan."

A nervous laugh ripples around the group. Noah isn't entirely sure if she's joking or not, is just trying to figure that out when he realises she's staring at him expectantly.

"Right," he says awkwardly. "And I have Ani Serrento, cartography and scans, and Ekain Lekubarri, botany."

There weren't many crew members in quarantine who had known about the Degasi. Serrento had been one of the few who had; she had been one of the ones scanning for the ship when everything had fallen apart. Lekubarri had never heard of them prior to Noah approaching him; he had been briefed quickly and promised study of every plant he could lay his hands on on the island.

Introductions always were awkward. Noah turns away, goes back to checking their equipment, lost in thought.

_"Emissary, we will start with our command team. This is Second Officer Noah Keen - he will be your primary contact within the Aurora. If there is anything at all that you need, please, talk to Keen."_

_The hand that clasps Noah's own is warm, the emissary's grip strong. He's been smiling faintly throughout this entire meeting and mission briefing, but now the smile turns more genuine._

_Noah pulls his hand free, nonplussed but smiling back nonetheless. "Emissary Khasar," he says, and bows his head. "It's a pleasure. I look forward to working with you."_

_The emissary chuckles, his eyes very dark. "Likewise, Officer Keen. Still, it will be at least a year before our adventure begins. It is my hope that we will still have many encounters before that."_

_Noah only nods, feeling like he's just stepped off a gantry._

It's not a long trip. The island is only a kilometre or so from the Aurora, and although their path is a slightly convoluted one to avoid both shallow water and leviathans, they still make it there within half an hour.

Even in that half hour, the sun has not risen much higher. Mist shrouds the island; it's likely going to be steamy before the morning is too far gone. Standing atop the Cyclops, gazing down at their gear being loaded into the sled, Noah runs through their plans in his head, the paths to take up to the ruins of the Degasi bases, the base they will set up.

"Oi, Keen!" the CTO calls from the sled, "You going to just admire the view?"

Noah ducks his head, shooting her a quick glare before stealing a look around him. (No, the other crew members didn't react. Probably for the best, given the CTO's informality.) He's careful when he climbs down the ladder, mindful of the several hundred metres of deep water beneath him, can't help but be relieved when his boots touch the sled.

"It's probably best not to be quite so informal around the other crew," he says stiffly, leaning against one of the crates as she pilots them to the island. He's with the third and last load; the other five are already unpacking their things, Serrento and Lekubarri directing the CTO's crew in where everything should go.

She shrugs. "They didn't hear. Anyway," she adds, and there's just a hint of a darker tone in her voice, "Do ranks and formality even matter any more? We're all infected. The bacteria doesn't give a shit whether you clean toilets or pilot starships. If we don't succeed here, they'll still toss our bodies in the same furnace."

Noah closes his eyes. "It shouldn't matter. I know. It just... does."

_He hadn't got to Second Officer on a significant mission by shirking the rules._

_The rules, the regulations - they had been a part of Noah's life since his earliest days. He knew that order ran the world and that chaos destabilised it; he knew that Alterra had a place for everybody and that everybody had a place._

_His place had been in a junior leadership program from the age of ten onwards._

_The rules helped. Noah played by the rules, and was rewarded for it. He had risen through the ranks according to Alterran rules of succession; with each new challenge, he had met it head on. He had earned his place on the Aurora, and he deserved the respect afforded by his title and status._

_Jochi Khasar had not seemed to care much for it._

_"Good morning, Noah."_

_It's very early in the morning. Noah is staring blankly into his cup of coffee when the emissary enters the room, and his greeting makes his eyebrows rise sky high._

_"Good morning, Emissary Khasar," he says stiffly in return._

_Khasar raises an eyebrow back at him, and reaches for a bagel. "You look like the coffee is going to bite, Noah," he teases, "Should I get a tea instead?"_

_Noah closes his eyes, just for a moment. "I've been wondering, actually," he says before his sense of protocol can kick in, "Is it a Mongolian trait, this informality? If you were Alterran, you would be referring to me by my title,_ Officer Keen _."_

_Khasar actually laughs. "Not really. You would have liked Paul - or rather, Alterra would have. He always was a stickler for rules and regulations. I am not. That is the sole reason why I have joined this mission in the first place."_

_He's curious, now. Can't help but be._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"If I had decided to play by the rules, I would have stayed home. Continued to run Torgal Corp. Doing this - it is a risk. I could have appointed someone else." Khasar's expression is distant, now. "But this is the path I have chosen. I would not have made another come in my place. I search for my mentor under my own power."_

_He glances up and meets Noah's gaze. Noah's hand tightens around his cup._

_"Were you in my shoes, would you order another of a lower rank to fulfil a task that was personally important to you? I ask my creators daily to show me the path, in Life, Truth, and Love, and this is the path they and I have chosen to take. Would you make another take it for you?"_

_"I don't know," Noah says quietly. "I don't know."_

The habitat builder is not building.

Theoretically, it should be easy. Point the habitat builder at the neatly-packaged pop habitat, press button, watch as habitat nearly unfolds. In practise, Noah is practically shaking the damn thing, poking it, smacking it once against his palm.

"I give up," he proclaims, and hands it to the CTO.

She rolls her eyes, and calls out to her crew. "Oi, guys, this might take a while! Feel free to have a wander. Don't go too far, take a stasis rifle in case of like... evil trees or something."

"Evil trees?" Noah asks bemusedly.

She grins. "Hey, you never know." Settling down cross-legged in the grass, she pops the casing of the habitat builder open. "Wouldn't it just figure, though? Survived a crash and an alien bacteria only to get eaten by a tree."

"Please. I'm personally hoping to be set upon by rabid squirrelrats."

The CTO stops short, staring at him in astonishment.

"What?"

"You made a joke!"

"I've been known to do that on occasion." He actually smiles, not entirely sure himself why his mood has lightened. Surely it should have been frustrating to be on an alien island with no shelter and an uncertain future ahead. Surely he should have been angry, miserable, swallowing it down, casting steel over his face.

But he's sitting in blue alien grass gazing up at the trees, still glowing faintly under their canopies. There are flying rays soaring overhead, the sound of waves lapping on a little beach; the air is fresh and clean and fragrant.

He's going to find answers, and he's in a beautiful place, and his tension is slipping away like water.

_Jochi Khasar is staring at him._

_Noah hesitates, pauses, the smile slipping from his lips. Khasar has caught his eye and looked away hastily, and it's unexpected enough that Noah excuses him from the conversation he's having with the captain and approaches the emissary._

_"May I ask what that was about?" he asks, more interest than hostility in his voice._

_Khasar smiles, taking another sip of his wine. "No doubt you would find it deeply silly."_

_It might be the light mood that evening. It might be the wine. Either way, Noah shrugs, leaning back against the wall and appraising Khasar curiously. "Try me."_

_The emissary laughs, shakes his head. "At the risk of sounding like one of young Bart's trashy romance holos, I was thinking that you looked nice when you smile."_

The smile falls from his lips; Noah shakes his head like he's clearing cobwebs away. "Anyway. How's the progress looking?"

The CTO makes a neutral noise. "I think I found the loose connection. Give me a moment, I should be able to wriggle it back in."

Noah nods wordlessly, sits back and gazes up at the sky. "That moon," he murmurs, shielding his eyes with one hand, "I wonder if it's within the Roche limit, or if there's some sort of optical illusion making it seem larger? The tides here don't seem large enough for it to be a massive or close body."

"Don't know. I never did astronomy, I was too busy with engineering." Glancing up from her work, the CTO flashes a smile anyway. "A lot about this planet doesn't make sense. The life scans - this single crater being full of life, then surrounded by hundreds of kilometres of nothing but microorganisms and leviathans, still centred on this crater..."

"There's still life elsewhere on the planet."

"Yeah. But something happened _here_ to fundamentally alter the biodiversity of the place. It's like a target. A bullseye." She frowns, makes another minute adjustment to the habitat builder. "That's what we need to find out. If the dead zone is because of Kharaa, then why isn't the crater completely dead too? There has to be something holding it back, and that could be our cure."

Noah is gazing out at the water, now. Gazing in the direction of the Aurora, where he knows people are waiting to die. "Do you think you'll find it, really?"

"There's no harm in trying. If we look and don't find anything, we die. If we don't look, we die anyway." She gives a short, sardonic laugh. "And I thought work deadlines were bad."

_"You work very hard."_

_There's a hand on his back, warm and solid. Noah has to fight to keep from leaning into it, drawing comfort from contact._

_"It's an unfortunate side effect of being second officer," he murmurs, but there's no recrimination in it. "The engineers are bored again. They won't have anything to do until we reach the gate site, and so they need..."_

_He waves a hand, unable to articulate the word; Jochi smiles and supplies it instead. "One of your engineers described the Mongolian States as a 'cowboy corporation'. Perhaps you are looking for the word 'wrangling' and so should be wearing a cowboy hat."_

_Noah actually does laugh at that. "And boots. The boots are essential." Finally giving up on his report, he glances back up at Jochi. "Are they being unpleasant again? I can talk to them."_

_"No, I can handle it." Jochi moves his hand to Noah's shoulder, and squeezes gently. "Noah. We should talk this through. This - whatever it is developing between us."_

_He swallows hard. "I told you," he mutters to his PDA, closing his eyes. "I'm still... not comfortable doing this without a contract. I don't..." His chest hurts, almost in physical pain from the words he can't get out. "I don't how to do this without having everything set out. Without the protocol."_

_Jochi sighs, and he's close enough that Noah feels his hair ruffle. "And I told you. I am happy to work this out with you. There is still a month until we reach the planet. If we get there and do not find the Degasi, then we will have two years to take all the time we need."_

_And if they find the Degasi, Noah knows, then everything will change. Everything. They will take one of the smaller flyers to return to Mongolian space, and -_

_And -_

_"If we do find them," he says softly, "And you leave with them, then I'll regret not taking this chance forever."_

_The kiss is a small, cautious, tentative little thing._

_"Will you be patient with me?"_

_"Always."_

"Ha! Got it!"

There's a click, a beep, and the sound of fabrication; Noah glances up sharply to see the habitat begin to unfold, startling one of the strange bird rays from a nearby tree.

Pushing himself to his feet and brushing off his hands, he gives the CTO a brief smile. "Thank you. You fixed the builder?"

She grins, tossing it between her hands. "Piece of cake. Just a bit fiddly. I'll stay until you got the radio set up, then I'll call my guys and head on down."

Right. Noah hides a grimace, remembering that the CTO and her crew still have a dangerous job ahead. "Right. How will you -"

She whistles. Loudly. Noah nearly drops the habitat builder.

Baird returns first, followed soon enough by - _interesting_ \- Medlin-Adams and Serrento in very close quarters to each other. Robinson is the last to return, and Noah glances at him curiously; he's holding something in his hands like it's the most fragile thing, approaching Noah directly.

"Um, sir?" he starts, "I found this. About a hundred metres away and half buried."

It's a PDA. A PDA crusted in dirt despite some attempt at cleaning it. But the screen is still clear; the screen still shows that it's working.

Robinson continues nervously, "I didn't know whose it was, so I switched it on just to see if it'd work. The last file open was a voice log, but I don't even know what language it is." He activates it; a young, tired voice fills the air.

"Mongolian," Noah says softly as he takes the PDA from him, "It's Mongolian."

_"How much of it do you speak?" Jochi asks bemusedly._

_"Enough!" Noah protests, then pauses. "Well. I thought it was enough, anyway. When they gave us the briefing, we also took digitraining in_ Mongolian for Diplomacy _. Uh, let me -" He takes a breath, then says, "I hope this is sufficient?" in his best Mongolian._

 _Jochi actually chuckles. "It's fine if you're a diplomat," he teases back, stroking the inside of Noah's wrist. "But here, let me teach you some words that are only used for_ very _unconventional diplomacy..."_

"Sir?" Robinson asks uncertainly; Noah blinks up at him. "Were the Mongolians here? Are they the ones who built the base up on the hill?"

"It's a long story," Noah finally says, and glances at Yu. "I suppose there's no harm in telling him."

"I'll fill you in on the Cyclops," the CTO says with a brief smile. "We should be ready to roll. Go ahead and get the sled ready."

Robinson nods, busying himself with preparations; Noah gives the CTO a quick smile. "I suppose there's no point keeping it a secret any more," he muses, "Especially if you find any more of their bases or gear."

"Yeah. I'll keep you posted. Want to come and get the Seamoth? It should be set for five hundred metres."

He nods once. Follows her back to the sled, back to the Cyclops; detaches the Seamoth and pilots it to the shallows. Watches as the Cyclops sinks beneath the waves.

Noah turns back to the island.

He has work to do.


	10. Chapter 10

It's early. Ryley is practically vibrating with energy when he meets with CTO Yu and the others, accustomed to early starts and dosed with adrenaline over the adventure - the mission, it's a _mission_ \- to come as it is.

Yu is yawning. Keen looks like he wants to go back to bed. Ryley hides a grin; somehow, he gets the feeling that command crew aren't quite as used to early starts as he is.

Rising from the pile of gear she's inspecting, Yu turns to address them. "Okay, party people! Most of this shi- this stuff is for Keen's group, so keep it together. Should be able to carry it on the sled up to the island. For my three, I got reinforced dive suits for you. Hopefully we won't need 'em. Robinson -" Ryley starts - "You get a nifty tool belt, it's in a locker inside marked 'tools'. We good? Okay, up we go!"

Murmuring his affirmative, Ryley straightens up, sets foot on the ladder and ascends into the Cyclops.

It's a beautiful machine. Pausing for a moment to admire it from the top hatch, he slides down (earning a glare from Keen) and ducks his head, making for the locker instead.

Repair tool, scanner, flashlight. They're all things he's used before; the repair tool, he uses regularly. Switching it on, he taps it to the tips of his fingers to test it, wincing as it splits his skin open and stitches it back together quicker than his eye can catch.

The last crew member, a man who's dyed the tips of his hair a shocking pink (Ryley gives him an approving glance), descends down the ladder; the top hatch seals itself. He stands patiently as Yu does the introductions (pilot, Tai Medlin-Adams; Vivec Baird on the scanners is the one with the pink hair), grinning anxiously when Yu reminds him his job is repairs, "Should we happen to pick a fight with a leviathan," mostly not paying attention to Keen's team.

It's Medlin-Adams and Baird who he'll be working with. They'll be all dependent on each other for survival. They're the ones whose lives are in the balance.

With a jolt that runs all the way down to Ryley's boots, the Cyclops starts off on its journey.

He doesn't need to be, but he's lingering near the front, watching the view slip by. They're sticking close to the surface, and now that they've moved away from the Aurora, the expanse of the sky is stretched out before him; this early on, it's a swirl of blues and purples, pinks and yellows.

Beyond that, he can see the island, a small dark smudge in the sea. Beyond _that_ is the horizon, and it's so expansive that Ryley can barely breathe.

He had been born in a city-station, like so many in Alterra space. He had gone straight from the station to his first apprenticeship on a ship, and the sky above his head had been black.

Blue skies were an artefact from projectors, meant to simulate life planetside. This sky was real, even through a reinforced Cyclops screen. This sky was _alive_.

He steps out of the Cyclops, boards the sled. Steps on to sand; real sand, not cleaned and sanitised and spread over a hard steel floor. There are trees above him reaching for the sky, grass, flowers, plants he couldn't even start to name, and they're _everywhere_ ; not in neat beds, not in grow rooms, but growing when and where they please.

Something very much like a bird soars overhead, then flies on, and on, and on, past a rusting observatory and into the sky.

Ryley barely murmurs an acknowledgement to the CTO's permission to wander. He's already off, half tempted to take off his boots and let his toes curl into the sand, letting the tips of his fingers drift over the green, pink, orange vegetation.

The scent of the island, of jungle, of _life_ is everywhere. It's utterly overwhelming. Ryley finds his breath stuttering in his chest; he finds an alcove in the rock and sinks to the sand, gazing blankly out to the horizon.

It's unimaginably vast. He's stared out into space, into the void between stars, light years upon light years; logically, he knows that this is one small world and the horizon can't be much more than a few kilometres away.

But gazing out of the view port of a city-station or a ship at one remove from space is nothing, nothing like being a part of the world, breathing it in, humidity on his skin, blue sky arching overhead.

Ryley digs his fingers into the sand, digs in to it, lets grains cling to his skin. It's nothing like the deck of the cargo bay. Nothing like the smooth halls of the Aurora.

How could he ever go back?

There's something in the sand, something solid and smooth. Ryley blinks, feels around it; there's a corner of it sticking out of the sand, crusted over and coarse to touch.

Carefully, carefully, he digs down, and pulls free from the sand a PDA.

It's not too old. Not Alterra-built, but reminiscent nonetheless of the PDAs of his late teens. As carefully as he can, with the most delicate touch he uses for fiddly technology, he cleans most of the sand from it, holds his breath, and hits the on button.

It doesn't turn on; he's not surprised. Turning it carefully in his hands, he finds the access port and slides it open with only a minimum of resistance, gently shaking grains of sand loose, twisting wires back together. The repair tool, too, that's still on his belt; he runs it over the back and watches as minute connections find each other again.

This time, when he hits the button, it switches on.

It's not quite right; there's some distortion, some glitching in the display. But the files seem intact enough, even if he can't read the file names; he finds the most recently opened one and taps it.

It's a voice log. The voice is young, tired; he can't understand the words but he thinks, thinks he understands the tone. If this was from someone who had been here before, someone who had inhabited the rusting base on the mountain, then the speaker would have also been shot down, also been stranded, also been infected.

Whoever left the PDA was probably long gone. Ryley lets the recording finish and tries not to feel sad for someone who's likely long gone.

And then he jerks his head, turns back to the PDA. He's put the bits and pieces together - Keen's secret mission, the ruined base, the PDA. Keen had looked to be setting up for a long-term study; he has a feeling that it's going to involve what he's found.

He can't keep it. But he doesn't want to give it away without a fight. Ryley chews on his lip for a moment, and then gets out his own PDA.

He can't read the language on it, but the interface is similar enough to navigate to the home folder and copy the contents. Setting his own PDA to receive locally, he swipes the new copies across, watching them fill up a new folder with trepidation. One file after another, all in a language he doesn't speak, from someone he's never met and who is most likely dead, but someone else like him; someone else who was stranded here, someone else likely infected.

On his own PDA, he can use the translation program to get, at least, a text translation. It'll be enough. It's got to be enough.

He can't just _leave_ it.

There's a sharp whistle, and Ryley starts. Stares at the transfers, wills them to go faster, faster; he's got both in his hands, starting the trek back to the landing site, slowly, carefully, shielding the PDAs with his body -

The transfer finishes. Ryley exhales sharply and puts his own PDA on standby, hastily slips it back on its clip. The landing site is in sight now. He does not drop the strange PDA.

He's the last back. Casting a quick glance around, he heads straight for Keen, his hesitation not entirely hidden. "Um, sir?" he says cautiously, and holds the PDA out, "I found this. About a hundred metres away and half buried. I didn't know whose it was, so..." He's rambling, can't help but do so. "So I switched it on, just to see if it'd work. The last file open was a voice log, but I don't even know what the language is."

He wants to hear it again. Wants to and has the excuse to; he hits the play button and lets the voice speak.

It's gone quiet. All he can hear now are the waves and the speaker. Everyone else is listening, everyone else must feel the same pull to the recording that he must.

"Mongolian," Keen says, and takes the PDA from him. "It's Mongolian."

"Sir?" Ryley frowns. He hasn't had much contact with people from the Mongolian Independent States. As far as he knows, they just tend to be miners, colonists, people scratching out an existence on the outer reaches of the galaxy.

But if they were here...

"Were the Mongolians here? Are they the ones who built the base up on the hill?"

Keen shakes his head. "It's a long story. I suppose there's no harm in telling him," he says, addressing the last to the CTO; she gives Ryley a smile.

"I'll fill you in on the Cyclops. We should be ready to roll, go ahead and get the sled ready."

Ryley nods and does as he's told, hurrying away to position the sled to return to the Cyclops. There'll be five of them on the way back, he recalls, Keen coming with them to collect the Seamoth; then, then they'll be diving down, heading deep into the water.

And he has a PDA loaded with information that he's itching to read. Remnants of someone he's never met but almost feels like he knows better than the people around him.

He half has a mind to start reading the text files anyway when the Cyclops begins its descent process. Ryley glances down at the PDA helplessly, then shakes his head minutely and shuts it down. If truth be told, what's happening on the outside is fascinating, the water getting darker and darker and then, suddenly, brighter.

Luminescent orbs, almost the same colour as the streaks in his hair, float tethered to the rock and cast a glow over everything. Alien fish of all shapes and sizes dart between the glowing pods; he can see odd, feathery pink plants covered in smooth gel casting their own shine on them.

There's a thump as one of the fish meets its untimely demise against the side of the Cyclops; all four of them jump before the tension breaks with anxious laughter.

It's otherworldly, alien, _beautiful_. Most likely, everything outside can kill them, from the bacteria to the tiny fish.

But it's beautiful, nonetheless.

"Look," whispers Vivec, glancing up from the camera array and pointing outwards, to where what can only be described as a herd of aliens are slowly shuffling. "Look at _those_."

Ryley stares openly. Three-legged alien creatures make their way through a well-trodden path; every so often they pause to stamp and shuffle and grab something too small to see with one of the legs. There's four of them, two large, two small. He wonders if the small ones are children.

"I think that's their mouth," Yu murmurs. "The - the third leg, it's shaped differently. They walk on their _mouths_. That's..."

She waves a hand, no words to describe what they're seeing, then shakes her head. "Okay. Okay, we'll leave them be for now, they don't seem like they've noticed us. Or, if they have, they don't care. We should get on with it. Baird, have you spotted the cave entrances?"

He nods, tapping one of the screens. "Yeah. Northwest about a hundred metres, around four hundred metres deep."

"That's where we're going, then. Medlin-Adams, take us down."

Ryley tears his eyes from the aliens, watches the landscape outside shift as the Cyclops turns towards their destination. Watches the entrance of the caves approach, dark against the glow of the pods.

And they descend.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for trauma response, not-too-detailed description of a rather unpleasant death.

It's beautiful in the deep reef. Jia doesn't like it at all.

She's reminded, all too easily, of the place where the pod had landed. Oh, the landscape was different, that much was certain. Here, the glowing green orbs are predominant, elegant blue rays and schools of fish flitting amongst them; there's none of the ghost-pale plants or electric eels of the crash site. The rocks are different; the bioluminescence glows different colours.

But she's still on edge. 

"We can't go too deep this time," she finally says, her voice brittle. "We have mods for five hundred metres, and I made a few... _unauthorised_ adjustments, should get us to maybe seven hundred. But we're here to look around and deploy the camera drones. That's it."

There's a murmur of acknowledgement from her crew. They're all focused, all watching intensely; Baird is glued to his monitors and Medlin-Adams pours over the controls. Robinson, left without a task, is still watching keenly, moving between the two stations to gaze between camera monitor and view screen.

They've all fallen quiet. They're all watching, searching; when the ruins of the base rise from the darkness it's like they've met an objective they didn't even know they had.

"CTO?" Robinson says, and the silence bursts like a bubble. "I think now would be a good time to explain about the Mongolians."

"There were Mongolians here?" Baird asks; Medlin-Adams has also twisted around in her chair to stare at her.

Jia sighs. "There's not a lot to tell," she says, leaning back against her console as she faces the other three. "When the Mongolians heard we were going to be in this part of space, they asked us to keep an eye out for one of their ships that disappeared in this region about ten years back. Any of you heard of Torgal Corp?"

Two shaken heads; Baird alone nods. "Yeah, that big mining company that Jochi Khasar headed. Wait, _this_ was where they went?" Glancing back at the other two, he hurriedly adds, "The former chief and his heir disappeared a decade ago. Company nearly went under. One of our passengers saved it. CTO, was he with us to look for them?"

Grimacing, Jia nods. "Yeah. He didn't survive the landing." Torgal Corp will probably fail now, she's willing to bet. Bad enough for one chief _and_ his heir to disappear; the death of another under the same circumstances will likely be too much for the stockholders.

She can't bring herself to care about stockholders, though. She's thinking of the crew.

"But yeah. We still don't know why Torgal came here, but it's most likely that he and his crew died. That's including his son - Robinson, that PDA you found possibly belonged to him. Of the six crew members, three were women and Torgal senior was nearly eighty, so it's either Bart's or Naran Harnut's. Ship tech lead." She shakes her head. "Bart was only nineteen. Poor kid."

Robinson is silent. He has one hand on his PDA, though, and Jia can half imagine what he's thinking; thinking about the fate of being barely out of adolescence before facing death, about the voice from the dead left inscribed to the PDA he had found.

" _Damn_ ," Medlin-Adams says with feeling, and the others nod in firm agreement.

There's an uncomfortable silence, then Baird straightens up. "Okay, so they died here," he says grimly. "If we don't want to follow their fate, I think we should get back to work. Scanners are showing a deeper part not far. Tai, I'll send you the co-ords."

"Got 'em," Medlin-Adams mutters in the direction of her console. "Okay, that's kind of pushing our limit. Can you deploy a drone from six hundred?"

"Yeah, should do."

Jia simply sits back, watches the system information scrolling by on her screen, hides a smile to herself. Medlin-Adams and Baird have gone straight back to work, and Robinson back to watching. He's pointing out something on one of Baird's screens, and Baird is nodding, murmuring back to him.

Jia is part of the command class. Medlin-Adams and Baird, both engineers; Robinson, support. But here, in the Cyclops, their rankings don't mean much; they're working together, working as a team.

It's another cave entrance, angling down into darkness. Jia can make out a dim green glow and hits the scanner, frowns at the readings it returns of high salinity, high density, high acidity. "Acidic brine?" she mutters to herself.

Baird glances over at her. "I'll try to avoid it," he grins, and taps the console to pilot one out of its socket. "Okay, baby, go find us some cool shit."

Now, all four of them find themselves clustered around Baird's station; they all have their eyes fixed to the screen as he navigates the drone into the cave. Jia finds herself shivering despite herself, gazing at a twisting trail of brine interrupted by protruding branches, the tips gleaming. Shadows play across the walls as glowing rays swim lazily, seemingly even more fragile-looking than the rays in the reef.

"It's kind of beautiful," Robinson murmurs.

Medlin-Adams nods. "Mm. I've seen a lot of different planets, but this one is new."

It's only for a moment, but Jia is fairly sure there's a flash of sadness that crosses Robinson's face. "That would be nice. Did you ever -"

The lights, very abruptly, go out.

They all freeze; Jia feels the chill down her spine turn to ice. The engine sound that has been so omnipresent that none of them notice it any more fades to the most profound silence she's ever heard; the only sound is of four sets of anxious breathing.

From outside, there's a deep creaking sound, a groan like metal under strain. Deep, echoing clicks; the scrabbling sound of knives on titanium skin.

Three of them look around in confusion. Jia sinks to the floor.

The lights slam back on; the Cyclops shudder as the engine comes back online. Medlin-Adams lunges for her controls and brings them up sharply, starts to turn back to the entrance of the deep reef system.

This time, they see the EMP before it hits, before the lights die again. Medlin-Adams yanks her hands from the controls, spins in her seat. "Robinson," she says shakily, "Get ready to kill the lights."

When the engines next come back on, they both move fast; Robinson slaps the lighting controls for inside and outside the Cyclops while Medlin-Adams shuts off the turbines, the monitors, everything but life support. In the dark, they stare anxiously out the window; stare as something that's part crab, part squid, part monster drifts into view.

"It's inspecting us," Baird whispers. His voice is unsteady. "Is that its brain? How smart must that thing be?"

A sharp chuffing sound; a deep creak. Razor-sharp claws tap across the surface of the Cyclops.

"Stars. It's huge." Medlin-Adams shakes her head. "Hard to tell from in here, but it's maybe ten, fifteen metres tall."

Huge. Smart. _Hungry_.

Jia is shaking on the floor. She can still see it, even without closing her eyes; see how easily one of those scythes could impale a human body only a little bigger than one claw tip, see the way the pincers could shear flesh off bone, see how it could draw meat towards a mouth that could swallow her whole.

She can still see the blood in the water.

And she had closed her eyes to it, shut down the memory, the pain; shut down everything but the need to survive, the need to find others who were still alive. Shut down the way his hand had been ripped from hers. Shut down the way that half a metre's difference meant that she would be dead and he would _still be alive_.

There had been so much blood in the water.

"Okay," Medlin-Adams is saying faintly, "We need to... silent running... distraction."

"Light," says Baird.

Robinson adds, "Flare."

("Have you ever used a torpedo tube before?"

"No."

"Good time to learn.")

There's movement. Motion. Someone running to the torpedo tubes, someone hunched over the launch controls. Medlin-Adams, from far away, calling instructions.

(Blood in the water, a gleaming claw forced through his back, the surprise on his face. Such mild surprise.)

"And - _launch_!"

The Cyclops shuddering as the engines slam back on, her stomach dropping as it rises up and up and up. Outside the window, flashes and flares.

Groans and creaks, clicks and snaps.

"CTO?"

The water is growing lighter. She feels dizzy.

"CTO Yu? It's Ryley Robinson. Can you hear me?"

She blinks at him, almost laughs. Remembers him bleeding and barely conscious. "I infected you."

He winces. "It doesn't matter. Are you okay?"

Jia breathes in, breathes out again. Closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering laugh. She can't hear the groans and clicks any more, just the sound of the Cyclops running gently, smoothly in the background.

With a shudder, she forces her hands into her hair, pulling it out of its ponytail. "I'm sorry I fell apart on you," she says, as steadily as she can, but she can still feel her heart racing out of control. "I have a shitty excuse, but I shouldn't have."

Medlin-Adams is standing behind Robinson; she and Baird both wear identical worried expressions. "It's okay," she says, and offers Jia a hand up. "I guess something happened?"

Jia glances at her. "I was in the lifepod with Emery Berkeley," she says quietly; there's recognition in Medlin-Adams' eyes, and Jia forces the words past her lips to hang in the air. "The thing we saw down there was the same kind of thing that killed him."

"I'm so sorry," Medlin-Adams whispers; Robinson reaches out cautiously and squeezes her shoulder.

She's supported all of them, at times. Now they're supporting her; she feels a lump in her throat.

But they still haven't finished placing camera drones. They still haven't got any further. Their lives are still on the line. Jia closes her eyes, takes a few more steadying breaths, and opens them again.

"Okay," she says, and her voice is still soft, but at least it's steady. "Okay. We have a couple of targeted sites nearby. One is to the southeast, the other is a trench due north. Let's hit up the southeastern one first, then the trench. Everyone ready to go?"

Medlin-Adams and Baird murmur their acknowledgements, take their stations again. Robinson lingers just for a moment, then gives her a smile and takes up position behind Baird's chair.

They have a job to do.

 

It's late in the afternoon and starting to rain by the time they return to the Aurora. They've placed camera drones at five sites (Jia had rather firmly vetoed the one near where the lifepod had landed, and the crew had unanimously backed her up on it), and she's got in contact with Keen back on the island, told him about the sunken Degasi base and added in a very strongly-worded warning about just what lurks down there.

She doesn't want anyone else to have to face that thing. Not again.

They're packing up, getting ready to disembark, when Jia calls them over; for the first time in hours, she's smiling.

"Okay," she tells them, "First, I want to tell you all that you performed magnificently today. I'm serious. I fucked up - sorry, I messed up, and you coped with a crisis with level heads and quick thinking, and if we actually happen to still be alive in a month, I want to recommend you for commendations."

There are some pleased murmurs in response; Baird grins and elbows Robinson, Medlin-Adams rocks back on her heels and smiles.

"So," she continues, and turns to Medlin-Adams. "I want us to keep working on this. Medlin-Adams -" She takes a breath. " _Tai_ , d'you think you could teach Vivec, Ryley, and me how to pilot a Prawn suit?"

Medlin-Adams, Tai, blinks. "Yeah, probably," she confirms. "Can we actually do that?"

Jia nods. "The lower Prawn bay is partially flooded, so it's within the quarantine zone. But from the looks of things, we still have intact suits. We might have to rotate, but we can definitely get it done. I want us to follow up on the study sites, and we also need to collect raw materials to manufacture shields and depth mods. It's not ideal, we don't have time for proper training, so we'll have to be pretty self-disciplined. I think you've all demonstrated that today."

Raising a hand, Vivec volunteers, "I don't think I'd be much good in a suit. I can keep on the cameras and direct you to anything interesting."

"Cool," Jia nods. "Ryley, want to pilot a Prawn?"

His eyes have lit up at the prospect; he nods enthusiastically. " _Hell_ yes."

She can't help but grin. "Cool," she repeats. "Okay. Vivec, you watch those cameras. Tai, you teach me and Ryley how to pilot, then we go out and start looking for anything that we can use for upgrades - nickel, lithium, magnetite, sulfur. Kyanite, somehow. Bunch of creature decoys."

Her voice stays steady on that last one. Wants to tremble; doesn't.

"Thanks, everyone," she finishes, and smiles. "We get through this, we just might make it."


	12. Chapter 12

It's already been one of the longest days Ozzy can remember, and it's barely passed midday.

Had it really only been six hours since Ryley had left? Had he really been only moping for most of the morning? He had slept, yes; he had had the conversation with Alastair.

He's still feeling the sting of guilt every time he thinks about it. If it was what Alastair needed, he would keep lying for him; still, there's discomfort settling in the pit of the stomach. Ozzy has never been shy about his romantic orientation or lack thereof, has always been upfront and open with his sexual partners.

This deceit, even asked for; it's not sitting well with him. He feels adrift.

With Ryley, they are open with each other. Friends first, before anything else. He knows Ryley has his back, he has Ryley's in turn. Knows that the sex is secondary, that there's no romantic feelings there.

Alastair, though. Alastair and his crush, because he's sure it's just a crush based solely on gratitude and attachment, that he had latched on to Ozzy after he had helped bring him back out from the depths he had sunk to. Alastair and his crush that Ozzy has stupidly, foolishly agreed to reciprocate in words and actions only.

He hates the dishonesty, but also, critically, crucially, he also knows that Alastair is right.

There's no time to learn to be friends, especially not the way he and Ryley are. They're dying. The bacteria inside them will kill them. They are running out of time.

If Alastair has never been loved, can't Ozzy help him? Can't he at least pretend, if only for his sake, to show him what it must be like?

Ozzy knows better than anyone how many kinds of love there are. He knows he loves his family, the closeness of a family group that is unconventional amongst most Alterrans (but then, but then, haven't different cultures tried to impose their norms on Jewish people for millennia? Haven't they always adapted and resisted anyway?). He knows that he loves Ryley, his best and only remaining friend. He knows he loves a good cup of coffee in the morning.

Surely, surely there has to be room for him to love Alastair too. There must be.

He seems to be talking to Alastair over meals, for what they're worth with the meagre supplies they have. Now, he takes both their coffee rations (the nutrient bars they get are supposedly calorie-dense enough to only need one a day; still, his stomach grumbles at the lack of content) over to him, handing one cup over and settling on the end of the bed.

"This," he pauses carefully, "Arrangement we have. I just wanted to ask - where's Ryley's place in this?"

Alastair blinks up at him from his mug, scratching absently at the back of his hand. "Oh. Uh - I suppose things can stay as normal?" Ozzy is fairly sure he means it as a statement, but his voice rises in inflection questioningly. "I mean, I know he's important to you."

Ozzy nods absentmindedly. "Yeah. I guess I wanted to know if you wanted him as part of this..." He waves a hand. "Relationship arrangement thing. I mean, I'd have to talk to him about it when he gets back tonight -" _When_ , not _if_ , he's not even entertaining _if_ \- "But like. I wanted to know your stance on things first."

Sipping at the coffee, Alastair makes a thoughtful, noncommittal noise. "I wouldn't be opposed to it. He saved me as well," he finally says, and his cheeks go pink as he smiles cautiously. "And you're right, he does have a great ass."

Ozzy has to stifle a laugh at the blushing and the bashfulness, settling for grinning instead. "I know, right? You could bounce a coin off it. But, uh, yeah. I guess I'm more comfortable with this whole mess - the bacteria and quarantine and shit - if we're all in it together. Where it's not Alastair-and-Ozzy on one side and Ozzy-and-Ryley on the other, but Alastair-Ozzy-and-Ryley. We're stronger together."

"Stronger together," Alastair repeats softly, and manages a smile, less cautious, more genuine. "I like that."

 

The evening is slipping into night when someone calls out that the Cyclops is back. Ozzy is up and moving before he can even properly process the words, grabbing a towel, Ryley's pyjama pants, and swinging by the coffee station for a mug (decaffeinated), joining the others clustered around the viewing station.

"Do they look okay?" someone asks anxiously; Ozzy can hear the affirmative reply and feels the tension slip from his spine.

The exit hatch is lower down in the cargo bay. Ozzy waits at the top of the stairs with his bundle in hand, watches the four of them return inside, hiding a grin at the memory of the earlier conversation when Ryley bends over to set his gear in a locker. Watches as Ryley makes a comment to the others, smiles when he looks up the stairs and finds Ozzy waiting there.

"Hey," Ryley smiles when he draws level.

"Hey," Ozzy grins. "How was it?"

"Yeah. It was interesting."

"'Interesting' like 'this is the coolest shit, I have to tell Ozzy about it'? Or 'interesting' like 'may you live in interesting times'?"

"...Yes."

He laughs, a tension-breaking laugh, and shakes his head. "Come and tell me about it."

Ryley smiles again, and now Ozzy can see how exhausted he looks. "Yeah, okay. First I need a coffee - ah!" Taking the proffered mug, he drains about half of it in a gulp. "Coffee and a shower - oh." Now, he's spotted the towel and pyjama pants; he gives Ozzy a shattered smile. "Hi, I love you."

"'Course you do, you have taste," Ozzy grins, and leads the way to the showers. It's reminded him, Ryley's words, of what they need to talk about; reminded him that they still stand in a precarious position.

The showers aren't completely unoccupied; one of Ryley's fellow mission members is showering as well. Vivec has hot pink hair and a friendly smile; he and Ryley fill Ozzy in about the mission itself, Ryley doing the bulk of the talking.

It sounds brutal. It sounds terrifying. Ozzy cannot, cannot understand the dreaminess in Ryley's voice when he describes the island, the huge stomping aliens, or the glowing orb things. The sombre discovery of the previous visitors to the planet, yes, he can understand the melancholy in the explanation there. The CTO's trauma that they describe in careful words, yes, he understands that.

But the fascination he's having trouble with, and when Ryley actually expresses regret that he hadn't been able to actually get into the water, into the _alien ocean full of lethal predators_ , Ozzy stares at him like _he's_ the alien.

Vivec leaves soon enough. Ryley leans against the shower wall, rinsing the shampoo from his hair. "What happened with Alastair?" he asks immediately, as soon as the door closes.

Ozzy sighs again, but at least this is a familiar confusion. "You were right, he wasn't happy," he admits. "He was jealous. Not just of you in general, but more like - that we have this connection and he didn't see a place for himself in that."

Ryley winces, gestures for him to continue.

"He said he's never had friends." Ozzy stares at his hands, balled into fists on his lap. "Never had anyone love him. I - he asked me to lie to him. To pretend to love him. Because we _could_ be friends, but we don't have enough time. So I'm gonna fake it for him, so at least he can feel loved before we die."

Shutting off the water, Ryley wraps the towel around his waist and takes the seat next to Ozzy, pressing their legs together; Ozzy can feel the warmth of body heat through his pants leg. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "For both of you."

Ozzy tilts his head towards Ryley's, ignoring the wet. "Yeah." A sigh. "Um, I asked him what he wants to do - like, with you as well. Because I'm not gonna let you go, 'kay? You're a part of this, and you can stay away from him if you need, but he's happy with all three of us together, if that's something you want to do. But I think we're gonna be stronger together."

"I can do that," Ryley murmurs, closing his eyes. "I wouldn't mind."

"I wish it hadn't come to this."

"Yeah."

"Trying to work out what relationships we should be having while we sit around and wait to die."

"I'm going to keep fighting," Ryley says, and his voice cracks. "We - the CTO and the others - we're going to keep looking for a cure. We're going to fight this. We're gonna live. I promise."

"Yeah," Ozzy whispers, and wishes he could believe him.

Ryley dries off, dresses; they retreat back to bed. Even if it's not that late, Ryley is still exhausted; his eyelids are drooping as he drops to the mattress. "Hi, Alastair," he mumbles sleepily; Alastair cracks open an eye and smiles back.

"Hi. Good mission?"

"Mm. Sometimes terrifying, mostly really interesting. I'll tell you about it in the morning."

"Okay." Alastair pauses self-consciously, then asks, "Do you want to be in the middle?"

Ryley blinks in surprise, glancing back at Ozzy, then smiles back tentatively. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

It's okay like this now, Ozzy thinks, curled around Ryley's body protectively, breathing in the scent of clean washed hair, Alastair's hand slipped into his own. It's okay for now, being like this, the three of them existing even when everything around them tries to tear them down.

Stronger together. They'll be okay.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for lightly described sexual content, mild drug and alcohol use, and panic attacks.

Alastair wakes with a tickle in his throat, not quite sore yet but the promise of it there. By mid-morning, he's started to cough; it's nothing major, just a nagging irritation he can't quite get rid of. But he's being hyper-vigilant, super-conscious of every symptom; he's not surprised when others start coughing by the evening, Ozzy and Ryley included.

Not surprised. But not happy, either. It's just another reminder of what they're facing.

That day after Ryley returns from the mission is a quiet one. Alastair has nothing to distract himself from his growing anxiety, and Ozzy seems full of nervous energy himself, occasionally getting up to pace frenetically, to do a few laps of the cargo bay. Ryley is due to start training to use some giant exosuit (Shrimp suit? Something like that) the next day, but he seems ill at ease with the wait, spends most of the time buried in his PDA with his earbuds on.

No one ever warned them that dying of a mysterious alien plague was so _boring_.

He naps fitfully, wakes to find Ozzy and Ryley talking quietly, Ryley's head on Ozzy's shoulder. It's sweet, quiet; he doesn't want to intrude but doesn't want to be left out, either.

It's Ryley who catches him watching. When he nudges Ozzy, Ozzy reaches out and runs his fingers through Alastair's hair, the fine strands slipping through the digits.

Alastair hesitates, just for a moment, then shifts to pillow his head on Ozzy's thigh, ostensibly so he can reach better. Ozzy doesn't even skip a beat, keeps stroking; Alastair finds himself starting to drift again.

"You get all the guys," Ryley teases gently, and Alastair falls asleep with Ozzy's laugh in his ears.

 

It's just the two of them the next day, Ryley having left the cargo bay for the lower levels to start his Crab suit training. Ozzy is more relaxed this time, at least - knowing that Ryley is just a few decks down and still within the protective walls of the Aurora and not out risking his life in the unknown depths of the alien ocean seems to help.

That, and the Lobster Bay is close enough to the lower crew quarters that Ryley has promised to pick up some of their personal belongings. No help for Alastair, his cabin was higher up and thus inaccessible, but the knowledge that soon people will be bringing back belongings (and mementos, always mementos, Alastair is so aware how many crew members have died so far) has done a lot to raise spirits.

They need every bit of optimism they can get, honestly. Everyone is coughing now. The nights are punctured by them, by wheezing, by the sound of people tossing and turning in discomfort from itching, burning skin.

"Stop that," Ozzy scolds gently, catching Alastair's hand as he scratches furiously at the side of his neck. "Try focusing on something else."

"I _can't_ focus. It itches!"

"Yeah." Ozzy slumps back. "Ryley said he's gonna check the lower store rooms, there might be some ointment or something. I don't know, I've been going through manual recipes in my head, can you do some..." He waves a hand. "Medical mnemonics or something?"

Alastair slumps back against the head of the bed. "I literally cannot think of a single one right now."

Ozzy grins helpfully. "I know one! RICE for sprains. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. I remember it because it has a food word in it."

He actually laughs, shaking his head with a smile. "Ice isn't actually that good. Restricts blood flow and so inhibits healing. Try MEAT - movement, exercise, analgesics, treatments."

(He remembers that much, at least. Friendly debates over RICE versus MEAT over a lunch usually including synthesised versions of both tended to do that.)

The laugh trails off; he shakes his head. "The only one coming to mind is SPACE DIGS."

"What's that?"

Alastair pulls a face. "Sleep disruption, psychomotor affectation, appetite change, concentration loss, energy loss, depressed mood, interest wanes, guilt, suicidal ideation. Symptoms of a major episode of depression. Which is all of us, at the moment."

"Oh," Ozzy says quietly.

And would anyone blame them, locked away and waiting to die? Ryley and the others are fighting, searching, trying to find anything that could help. But Alastair doesn't know if a cure exists; if they could even find one in time if there is one. He knows, knows that they won't all survive, that in a week or a month people will start to die.

And given that he was the first to start coughing, he's likely to be included in that category.

He doesn't want to think about it. Not about his skin burning, not about coughing; not about death hanging over all of them. Alastair turns, straddles Ozzy's thighs, leans in to kiss him until he needs to pull away to breathe.

Ozzy gazes up at him, and normally he's taller but with Alastair in his lap, Alastair now has the slight height advantage. Ozzy's hands are settled on his hips, under his shirt; he's rubbing patterns into the skin with his thumbs.

"You said to focus on something," Alastair breathes, and leans in for another lingering kiss, grinding his hips into Ozzy's. "Focus on me."

Ozzy makes a soft, needy sound; then reaches up to tug Alastair's shirt off.

 

There's something electric in the air in quarantine that night.

With fresh supplies from the lower decks, with personal belongings and memories of friends and a lot of alcohol (mostly courtesy of the contingent of high-up Crayfish suit pilots who would routinely stash pilfered bottles from the upper decks, now unable to retrieve them without risking infection), the mood has become boisterous. And Alastair would normally retreat, avoid it all; now, he intends to dive in.

(So to speak.)

They have so little time left. Why not cut loose? Why not allow himself to enjoy a party, for once in his life, before he dies?

So, they have loud music on. So, they're drinking; so, there are couples and trios and other combinations being utterly unsubtle. Alastair is sitting on Ozzy's lap; he's got a glass of something that he can't describe in any other way other than 'it tastes blue', Ozzy has taken something that's made him come over giggly and overaffectionate, and he's being happily felt up in public, and he simply cannot bring himself to care.

Ryley wanders over, his gelled hair in spectacular disarray and lips kiss-bruised, and flops himself in Alastair's lap (Ozzy's own being otherwise occupied). "Hi," he says dreamily, and pats Alastair's knee, "Oh man, Prawn suits are so cool."

" _Prawn_ ," Alastair almost shouts; Ryley blinks at him. Beneath him, Ozzy is shaking with laughter. "I was calling them like... Crab suits."

Ryley laughs - indeed, he giggles. "It's an acronym. Pressure something Armoured Waterproof something suits. The PDA said that it's normal to get a sense of like - unlimited power. Tai said they used to go out onto the deck and hold on with grapples to get dragged along. Which sounds kind of stupid to me." He shrugs, accidentally shouldering Alastair in the stomach. "I think we're gonna put them to much better use."

"Yeah," Ozzy grins, and claps him on the shoulder. "You're gonna save everyone here and we're gonna go home and then I'm gonna make you two some matzo ball suit. I mean, soup."

Alastair twists in his lip, giving Ozzy an alarmed look. "Is the matzo okay with having its balls eaten?"

(Ozzy starts giggling too hard at that to give him an answer.)

Confused but amused, Alastair simply leans back against Ozzy's chest, letting his eyes fall shut. It's okay. They're okay. There's the noise of partying, of celebration, of people making the most of what they have. He can feel Ozzy's body, warm and firm beneath his; can feel Ryley leaning against them both.

No being trapped in a tiny, cramped lifepod, hundreds of metres below the surface. No demon fish trying to lure him into the water. He's safe, he's _safe_.

He's twisting in Ozzy's lap again, unintentionally knocking Ryley loose but clinging to them both, face buried in the crook of Ozzy's neck and trying to control his hyperventilating. Ozzy and Ryley, both trying to comfort him, to calm him despite being high; both murmuring soothing things, both stroking his back and arms to ground him, keep him calm, keep him grounded.

"Sorry," he rasps out against Ozzy's neck. "Sorry."

"It's okay. It's okay. You're safe, it's okay."

He's safe, he's safe, he's here, he has to be because the alternative is unthinkable, he's safe and in the cargo bay with Ozzy and Ryley. It's a trick of his traumatised brain, trauma that still hasn't disappeared, will probably remain for the rest of his very short life.

"Come on. Back to bed, okay?" Ozzy says softly; Alastair can feel Ryley rise and help them both up. "We'll stay with you. We're with you. You're safe."

"Yeah," Alastair whispers, and lets himself be lead off.

 

More training for Ryley. More waiting for Alastair, for Ozzy. The cargo bay is quiet today aside from the sounds of coughing; most are sleeping off hangovers.

When Ryley returns, it's a relief, if only to see Ozzy's brooding come to an end. Ryley smiles faintly at them, leaves again to get some coffee and to finish the nutrient bar from earlier in the day, returns only to dive straight back into his PDA.

Ozzy sighs, then pokes Ryley in the arm; aside from last night's party, Ryley has barely put down the PDA for a minute.

"What?" Ryley blinks; he taps the PDA and pulls out an earbud.

"Got a good holo on there or something?" Ozzy says pointedly; Alastair watches the exchange with curious detachment. "You're getting kind of... absorbed there, man."

Ryley doesn't answer immediately. He frowns down at the PDA, glances around, then pulls the other bud free, handing one each to them. Curiously, Alastair pushes his in, and Ryley taps the PDA again.

It's a voice log, he thinks; something in another language. The text on screen, though; that's in English, and Alastair leans in to read.

_That's when Marguerit got interested. She actually listened to me - more than I can say for Father - and I worked up the courage to talk about my more... tentative theories. When I told her they were attracted to metal deposits, that their teeth get dislodged when they pick them up, her eyes narrowed and she dashed out of the room. Three hours later she came back, her pack loaded down with stalker teeth! I asked her about it. She shrugged and said my theories were good. Said she had them eating out the palm of her hand. I think she meant it literally._

Alastair blinks.

"His name was Bart Torgal," Ryley says quietly, and Alastair tugs out the earbud to listen. "He was nineteen years old when his father's ship, the Degasi, crash-landed here ten years ago. They were shot down like us, their old habitats are on the island and in the waters near it."

Ozzy makes a thoughtful noise. "A decade ago? I guess he's dead, then."

"I think so," Ryley says quietly. "This is his last entry."

Alastair doesn't listen, just reads. Just reads, and reads, and reads the translation again; looks up at Ryley and asks, "Is this translation accurate?"

"Yeah, should be. Mongolian to English is pretty reliable."

"'This is the first time I've seen sunlight in months'," Alastair quotes, and looks up again, meets Ryley's gaze intensely. " _Months_ , he said. He was sick and the others were dead, but they lasted _months_!"

There's something growing under his ribs, something warm, like sunlight after rain. He keeps reading the word _months_ , over and over again.

"Then we have a chance," Ozzy says, and his voice is full of wonder despite his previously optimistic words; Alastair wonders, wonders if his reassurances were still bravado up until this, the tangible proof that they could hold out for longer.

"Yeah," Ryley says, and he's smiling. "The dates there - they were here for four months, and they were showing symptoms from reasonably early. We might actually get somewhere with the missions. The Aurora has a lot more resources than the three of them ever had. We could actually survive."

He knows what it is, the feeling under his ribs. Can give a name to the look on Ozzy's face, the tone in Ryley's voice.

It's hope.

 

Ryley leaves for his first mission, and Alastair settles in for a day of watching Ozzy fret.

He paces, broods, outright sulks at times. Spends time lying flat on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling of the cargo bay, then leaping to his feet to stalk out his manic energy. Alastair watches, watches and waits, reads the transcripts of the Degasi logs Ryley has transferred to him.

By the middle of the day, sipping at his lukewarm coffee, Alastair has had enough. "Come on," he tells Ozzy with a sigh, "If you want to talk, talk to me. If not, can't you do something other than pace around? You're making _me_ nervous, too!"

Ozzy nods and drops himself on his bed (they're getting bigger beds soon, apparently, as soon as someone finds a working habitat builder), letting forth a frustrated yell into the pillow. Then he turns his head and sighs, meeting Alastair's gaze with a tired smile.

"Sorry, man. Just - there's some scary shit out there."

Alastair nods, his teeth finding his lip; Ozzy reaches for his hand and squeezes it. "He's capable. And resourceful, you remember what he did on the submarine. He'll be fine."

Stars, he wishes he could believe it. Every time he thinks about the ocean outside the ship, a chill thrills down his spine; every time he thinks about Ryley going out there, he feels the coldness in the pit of his stomach grow.

(And the selfish part, the part that's glad it's not Ozzy out there - that's there, too, no matter how much he likes Ryley.)

"Yeah. Yeah," Ozzy sighs, rolling on to his back. "This whole thing is so _fucked_. We shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be out there now. We should be on our way to build a phase gate. We should be _safe_."

"It wasn't perfect," Alastair says softly. "Before."

"Yeah. No. It wasn't." Ozzy closes his eyes. "Ryley was tellin' me about the island again last night, how beautiful it was. Even that reef, even if it was scary as shit. He's almost in his element here. Better than cleaning out coffee machine filters."

Alastair makes an affirmative noise, although there's uncertainty to it as well. "People can show their best in a crisis."

"Yeah." Ozzy exhales (then coughs, again, just to punctuate said crisis). "Come on. I'm gonna try to be at my best too, and you're a doctor. We should go around and see if anyone needs help."

_I'm not. I'm really not. What the hell can I do?_

"Okay." He bows his head, takes Ozzy's hand, lets himself be led away.

 

They're getting sicker.

Alastair snaps awake to the sound of one of their neighbours struggling to breathe, and he's back there in the lifepod, drowning and unable to stop it, drowning and unable to save himself; he's in knee-deep water but he can't rise, can't push himself up, _he can't breathe_ \- 

Ozzy and Ryley are trying to calm him, reassure him, and he knows, he _knows_ that, knows that they can't possibly be in the lifepod and therefore he must not be either, knows cognitively that he's safe; but the panicked part of his mind is still there and still drowning, still _dying_ -

He's on the Aurora, he knows he is, knows that he's in quarantine surrounded by sick and dying crew. He's still dying. He still can't breathe. And that part, that is all too real.

Alastair's face is damp with sweat from terror and from fever. His joints ache, his skin burns. He can't drag enough air into his lungs, and it's unfair, it's so unfair that his very real illness must mirror panic so much.

"Sorry," he whispers, slumped against Ozzy, Ryley rubbing soothing circles into his back. "I was remembering, but -" He coughs again, drags air back into his lungs with a harsh wheeze. "Then I really _couldn't_ breathe. This fucking illness."

Ozzy smiles sadly. "You know, I've never heard you swear before."

Alastair laughs, and it's hoarse. "Don't you think it's warranted? We're dying."

The hand on his back rubs reassuringly. "I'm going to find a cure," Ryley says, and it's like an oath. "Seriously. We've started picking up resources so we can take the Cyclops deeper, and then we're going to find this research facility and find a cure."

"What if you fail?" Alastair sighs, lets his head fall back against Ryley's shoulder; Ryley wraps his arms around Alastair's midsection instead.

"We won't. We'll find a cure. I _promise_."

"I hope so," Alastair says, closing his eyes, forcing himself to try to relax into Ryley and Ozzy's embrace. "For all of our sakes."

 

When Ryley returns from the next mission, two hours early, he finds Alastair alone. Ozzy is away talking to people, trying to help; always trying to help, to do what he can, and Alastair expects Ryley to take one look and head off to try to find him.

Instead, he goes straight to Alastair, still in his dive suit, face almost as pale as Ozzy's. He's shaking, Alastair can see when he draws nearer; when he crawls on to the bed, it's to bury his face in the crook of Alastair's neck and cling to him like his life depends on it.

"Ryley?" Alastair says softly, a fleeting part of his mind wondering if Ryley has confused him for Ozzy, or if he's so shaken up that anyone will do.

"Alastair," Ryley whispers, and it's unsteady but still enough to make him realise that, yes, Ryley knows exactly who he's with. "You saved my life today."

"I did? How?"

Ryley doesn't answer immediately, just sighs shakily against Alastair's neck. "I was in this kelp forest. And it's beautiful there. I was there yesterday as well, and - and it's fine, it's fine. But I went into the caves there to pick up lithium. It has different creatures there. These stinger tentacle things, the PDA says they're plants but they're also part animal or something, and apparently there's a ton of venom in them. And -"

His voice chokes off.

"And - fish. And I saw one, just out of the corner of my eye. It was turquoise. And it opened its fins."

Alastair can feel it instantly, the pressure in his chest, the immediate fear; he can feel it and crushes it down to hug Ryley tighter. "Oh no."

"I closed my eyes immediately," Ryley says, and his eyes are squeezed shut now. "Straight away. It was the hardest thing I ever did, I didn't want to look away. But I _had_ to. I knew what it was, because of you. I knew how to block it out, because of you. You saved my life."

He closes his eyes too. Tries not to imagine what would happen had it caught him, had it drawn him out in an underwater cave, surrounded by stinging tentacles.

"Are you okay?" Alastair whispers.

Ryley lets out a short, hoarse laugh, follows it up by more coughing. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm alive. I was in the suit, but - I didn't have my air tank or mask on, if it had made me open up the suit I would have drowned and you would have never found out what happened to me, I just wouldn't have come back -" His voice cracks.

"Don't tell Ozzy," Alastair says, and his voice is soft and steady, because he can do this. He can help Ryley, even if he can't help himself. "He gets anxious every time you leave. If he knew what had happened today..."

"He wouldn't let me out of his sight." Ryley smiles wryly, just a twist of the lips. "Yeah. I'm so sorry to dump all this on you."

Alastair shakes his head, helping Ryley sit up. "It's okay. I know."

He knows what it's like to feel fear every time he remembers a flash of turquoise fins. What it feels like to lose control. The fear of death, of small spaces; being trapped, being locked in with something that wants him dead.

He knows.

"Besides," Ryley says, and his smile is wan. "I have to keep going, even if it is dangerous. I promised to find a cure to save you, remember?"

"Yeah," Alastair whispers. Closes his eyes, because he just doesn't know, can't even begin to understand how Ryley could possibly find a way to fight this thing.

Closes his eyes because his bones ache, his chest hurts, his skin burns; and he knows Ryley must be feeling equally as sick, but he's still fighting and still searching and Alastair is still doing _nothing_.

It's not fair, to be sick. Not fair to be dying, not fair on Ryley to be the one to carry all their hopes.

Ryley pushes himself up, detaches himself from Alastair, then leans forward impulsively to kiss him. "Thanks," he whispers half against Alastair's lips, and pulls back; "I'm going to go shower. Just - thanks."

"You're welcome," Alastair murmurs as Ryley gathers his things and goes, reaches up to rub his lips and the smile that he's found there.

Maybe, maybe there's some hope there, after all.


	14. Chapter 14

The taste of fresh fruit is good for the spirit.

The Degasi crew had not been idle in their stay on the island. Ekain Lekubarri, their botanist, had already proven his worth; he had been the one to find the old plant beds, and the ten years of uncontrolled growth of their marblemelons and Chinese potato plants.

Ani Serrento, the cartographer, had wanted to dive right in, Noah spotting her eyeing off the nearest melon as Lekubarri had done the tests on it. Once he had declared them relatively free of the bacteria, they had _all_ got a piece.

The Aurora had - presumably still has, if it's undamaged - hydroponic bays, greenhouses. But accelerated, hydroponically-grown produce can never really compare to fruit growing out in the sun; Noah not only had finished his slice but gone for seconds.

They're not the only plants there. Lekubarri examines a row of trees, clearly grown deliberately, and declares them edible. Fruits hanging like lanterns off one, stems, pulp, and sap from another. The stems of the bulbous one taste a little like bamboo shoots and the sap is almost like honey; Noah bites into the bright orange fruits of the twisting tree and finds his mouth full of fresh juice.

"The best bit," Lekubarri is laughing as he slices another of the lantern fruits, "Is that we couldn't give them to the uninfected even if they wanted us to. There's _just_ enough of the bacteria in it that it could possibly infect them, but we're already fu- uh, compromised."

Noah frowns reflexively at the aborted swearing, then shakes his head. "What do you plan to do with them? Just take enough that it won't rot, then come back here when we run out?"

"That's probably for the best, yeah. They're clearly pretty happy here." Lekubarri waves a hand vaguely at the overgrown grove. "The melons and potatoes we could use grow beds for, that's what they're designed for, but I don't know about the indigenous species. We don't know enough about soil composition, microbial involvement, stuff like that. I'd love to try and cultivate these if we had the time, but..."

He doesn't even need to finish the sentence.

Noah makes a sound of acknowledgement, and stands. "Start making preparations to return to the Aurora, then. I think we're just about done here."

Serrento gets to her feet too. "Right! When are we going? I wanna take more pictures of that arch thing I found."

"Tomorrow morning," he says before he can think too much more on the decision. "You have the rest of the afternoon to finish up. I'm going to need Aurora facilities to untangle the rest of these recordings, but we've settled our three main objectives. Any objections?"

There are none. Noah nods, walks back to the camp.

They'll leave the buildings here. It's not like they'll need pop shelters and mobile scanning rooms back on the Aurora; perhaps this will be a welcome escape once things become intolerable. Dying on the island will make little difference to dying in the cargo bay, and...

This place, with its remnants of the Degasi mission, of _Jochi's_ mission, is all he has left.

He doesn't want to declare it over. Knows he doesn't really have any choice. Laying the Degasi mission to rest means laying Jochi to rest as well; it means returning to the role of the Aurora's commander (or, at least, the quarantined part's commander) and abandoning his pretence of continuing to work on it for Jochi's sake.

It means letting go. And it's going to be hard. It's going to be painful. It's going to be necessary.

They need him on the Aurora. There's no more hiding behind learning about the Degasi, or mapping the island, or finding new plants; they need to focus on the crisis at hand, and he can't do that holed away on the island, poking through old base footage and recordings to try and patch together what happened.

Sighing, he pulls out his PDA. Sends a message to CTO Yu to send out the Cyclops in the morning, then starts a new log. Pauses for a moment, then hits Record.

"Commander Keen's log. We're finishing up on the island, and I am officially putting an end to the Degasi mission. Having explored both the land base and the sea base in the reef, we can put together what happened - that they were shot down like the Aurora was, and that the three who survived the crash were able to sustain themselves for several months. From the base recordings, and from the PDAs of Paul and Bart Torgal, we were able to deduce that their sea base came under attack from an unknown leviathan. Margeurit Maida likely perished in the attack, the senior Torgal soon after. The junior Torgal appeared to survive another several weeks before succumbing to the bacteria."

He takes a breath.

"With this in mind, we now know that the bacteria is survivable for at least several months. This will be reassuring to CTO Yu's team, who are working on finding a cure. And even if they're not, then we have at least answered the question of the Degasi's disappearance. Their families and loved ones will know that much, at least."

_And you, Jochi. You never gave up. If you were alive to see this, I hope you would be satisfied by the work we've done._

"Tomorrow morning, we will return to the Aurora. Keen, out."

 

The CTO shows up, team in tow, early the next morning. The procedure is a lot more straightforward this time, no need to pack or unpack large amounts of supplies; most of what they brought initially is staying on the island.

They do bring the fruit aboard. Robinson stops giving longing glances at the island through the view port and glances at the crates in surprise and hope; Noah almost smiles.

"Sir?" he asks hesitantly, as if voicing it will make them disappear, "Is that... fresh fruit?"

Lekubarri is the one to answer, stepping in with a grin. "Yeah. Looks like the Degasi had cultivated a lot of stuff. There's some of the usual stuff, marblemelons and Chinese potatoes, but there's also indigenous foods."

Robinson lights up. "Ozzy is going to be ecstatic!"

Noah tunes out, turns to the CTO.

("Ozzy?"

"My best friend. He also ran one of the cafeterias."

"Ooh, a cook!")

"I know you advised not to go down to the reef," he says, leaning on the back of her chair. "I had to, anyway. Took the Seamoth down."

She gives him a warning look. "Was it worth the risk?"

Noah nods. "It was. We know how it ended for the Degasi, now. Maida hauled back a leviathan for Torgal Junior to study. It attracted another one. She was likely killed by it, Torgal Senior shortly after. Torgal Junior survived another few weeks, as per the PDA Robinson found."

Robinson, indeed, is apparently half listening in, glancing away speedily when he spots Noah turn his head his direction. Trying to ignore the prickle of disapproval at the breach in protocol, he gives the young man a reassuring nod before turning back to Yu.

"And you didn't have any encounters yourself?" she asks, and he can see the ghost of Emery Berkeley in her eyes.

"None. I was lucky." He hesitates, then rests a hand, briefly, on her shoulder. "We should return to the Aurora."

She nods, and soon the deep thrum of the engines is reverberating through the deck. Noah moves to take a seat, but the CTO gestures for him to stay, to come closer.

"I should warn you," she says, and her voice is soft. "Things on the Aurora... aren't great."

"Because of the sickness?" he says with a wince. "We've started observing symptoms as well."

She nods once. "Mostly, yeah. Being in close quarters and all. We've been getting a lot of coughing, a lot of skin irritation - burning and itching. Fatigue - well, that's kind of hard to gauge, there's so little to do that people are sleeping a lot just to pass the time, but -" Raising her voice, she calls out, "Tai, Ryley, you've been pretty active. Have you noticed you're more tired than usual?"

"Tai and Ryley?" Noah mouths at the first names, his brow furrowing.

Yu shrugs; Tai answers instead. "Yeah. I'm used to Prawns, but I'm still coming back feeling like I've gone through a blender. Sorry, gotta focus on this piloting."

Robinson is free, though, and he approaches now. And he hasn't noticed it before with Yu, focusing on the Cyclops controls as it is, but Noah is starting to realise how drained they all look, that they're running on reserves.

"We all have been," Robinson says quietly. "Like I get back from working in the Prawn and I feel beaten up, but so are Ozzy and Alastair - my friends - and they haven't left the quarantine. We're all getting fevers and chills, muscle aches, coughing, stuff like that."

Lekubarri and Serrento are just as in the dark about conditions on the Aurora as Noah is. With Yu, Baird, and Medlin-Adams focusing on the pilot, it's Robinson he turns to now for information.

"Do we know what we're facing? Early symptoms that we know are going to get worse?"

Robinson shakes his head. "Alastair's - I mean, Danby's the sickest at the moment, _and_ he doesn't have access to the network or his equipment, so we're kind of going in blind. He says that because it hurts a ton if you cough or breathe in too deep, we're probably developing pneumonia, though." He doesn't meet Noah's gaze as he says this, his eyes on the floor.

It's not just fear for himself, Noah thinks, it's fear for all of them. He had said that Alastair Danby was a friend and that he was the sickest of them all so far. How much had Robinson seen? How much burden were they carrying?

"Okay. So Danby's out, we don't have any equipment, and everyone is getting sicker," he confirms grimly. "What are our medical supplies like, do you know?"

"Not great. Alastair says that antibiotics probably won't cure it, but it might prolong it. But they aren't letting us have any." The last is said with a grimace and a strange emphasis on the 'they'; Yu turns to watch the exchange as well, a wince crossing her face.

"'They' aren't?"

"The Uninfected."

He can't help but hear it with a capital letter; Uninfected, to contrast their own state of Infected. He had heard it yesterday, too, Lekubarri laughing about how they couldn't share their fruit even if they wanted to; he's starting to see the line being drawn sharply between them.

It always had been Command versus Support, with the engineers falling somewhere in between. But he's talking to Robinson, a support crew member, like he wouldn't talk to his fellow (but uninfected) command; he's willing to bet that Robinson would see the divisions between himself and uninfected support crew.

Uninfected versus Infected. Battle lines being drawn.

"Why aren't they sending in supplies?" he frowns nonetheless. "We've already worked out how to transfer items from outside quarantine without risk of infection."

Robinson hesitates, then says, "They say there's no point. Even if we survive for longer, they still say we're going to all die anyway so they might as well not waste the resources."

"Despite," Yu immediately cuts in, and her expression is blazing; "Despite us working to actually find a damn cure. That extra time could save all of us."

"That's what Ozzy says, yeah," Robinson nods. "That we just need more time. Um, sir, now that you're coming back, can you talk to Commander Slade? He might actually listen to you."

_The way he hasn't listened to you?_

Noah nods, though, and sets a hand on Robinson's shoulder. "I'll talk to him," he says grimly, then turns back to watch as the Cyclops takes them back, back into quarantine.


	15. Chapter 15

_" **Do you know the story of the Russian cosmonaut?**_

_So he goes up in this big spaceship and he's got this portal window_  
_and he's looking out of it_  
_and he sees the curvature of the Earth for the first time._

_And all of a sudden this strange ticking is coming out of the dashboard._

_But he can't find it. He can't stop it. It keeps going.  
Hours into this, it begins to feel like torture._

_What's he going to do? He's up in space! So the cosmonaut decides  
the only way to save his sanity_

_**is to fall in love with this sound**."_

-

The glowing seed pods of the giant kelp glitter like stars.

Ryley is cross-legged on the sea floor, secure in his diving gear and the Prawn suit not far behind. Its storage compartment is full of iron-nickel ore that the Aurora's labs will be able to process and extract, the diamond-tipped drill is cooling down, and he has nothing left to do but to return to the ship...

And he hasn't. He is sitting in the ocean, only a handful of layers of fabric separating his skin from the rest of the world, gazing up at the dappled sunlight and glimmering, glowing seed pods, PDA in his lap and one hand drifting through the sand.

He's not alone down here. There are fish, more fish and more life than he's ever seen in one place before. Little blue fish with enormous eyes, fish shaped like deltas, fish with trailing tendrils; all glowing, all bright little sparks.

There are bigger ones, too. Gentle rays in black, blue, and yellow. Predators that he's learned can be distracted with handy pieces of scrap. A little thing with six legs and the sweetest face he's ever seen on a fish, one who wriggles excitedly when he waves and mimics his movements when he tilts his head from side to side.

He's not even the only human presence in the ocean that day. Ryley hums, and goes to the next file on his PDA, eyes closing as the recording starts.

It's in Mongolian, and that doesn't even matter. He's heard it so many times, seen the translation along with it, that he thinks he knows it by heart.

_"I stare out the window, and sometimes I think about how lucky I am to see this world up close."_

Was Bart Torgal lucky? Certainly, he hadn't ended up that way. He had crash landed, seen half his crew die. Had lasted for months only to lose his father and friend. In his last message, he had been dying; he had been resigned to it.

But he had found something down there, in the waters of the planet. And now Ryley, through his explorations, through Bart's recordings, is finding the same thing.

It's wonder and beauty. It's a world that's vibrant and _alive_ in a way that labs and mines and ship corridors never could be. Ryley watches the stalkers hunting, watches the peepers darting amidst the kelp and the hoverfish venturing closer and closer, and he finds himself thinking this:

That he loves this place. That he loves this world.

Bart is a part of it. Perhaps he would have fallen in love with the planet without his influence, but he can't help but immerse himself in both the world and the words, can't help but be affected by someone who unironically says that co-evolution gives him the fuzzies.

He knows their views, his and Bart's, are not those of the norm. The senior Torgal had wanted to exploit the planet; he knows Alterra would want to do the same without the presence of the bacteria.

_"What's the point of surviving here if we have to kill everything that makes it so wonderful?"_

It's more than just mineral wealth and resources. This planet is alive. He knows he's fighting to save it just as much as to save himself and his friends.

He wishes he wasn't sick. Wishes Bart was still alive. He can play the recordings as much as he wants, can read his writing as much as he wants. But he holds a ghost in those words, static and unchanging; a snapshot of Bart in the months prior to his death.

It feels so intimate. He has the words that Bart wrote at his highest and at his lowest. Knows about his fascination for the natural world and his frustration with board meetings and bureaucracy. About his duty to his father overriding his reluctance to be thrust into a leadership role, to lose the next five years of his life to watching over mining operations and of seeing himself trapped in the same loops and cycles for the rest of his life.

He had written about his father's eightieth birthday, about Paul Torgal's disconcertion that he might indeed die at eighty instead of a hundred and sixty. About his own impending death at age nineteen, so much shorter than he could have expected; the small guilty part that was at least grateful for the experience on the planet and the escape from endless company rules and policies, meetings and acquisitions and business.

And Ryley is starting to wonder if he's beginning to feel the same. If he's finding the good amidst the bad, finding a purpose, finding this world amongst the ashes of the Aurora. Putting his back to the tragedy and immersing himself in the planet.

He wants to find the cure, he knows that. He doesn't want to die, doesn't want anyone else to die; he knows that too. He searches for himself, for Ozzy, for Alastair; for the world.

But he also knows that if the choice came down to dying and to spending the rest of his life working for Alterra, to being an insignificant and overlooked part of the machine, that he would rather die.

He's not alone with that thought.

_"Whatever this is, I suspect we'll die of it. Aside from studying fish to try and work out how they're resisting it, we have no leads, and we're getting sicker day by day. I suspect the same fluid in the blisters is the same as the stuff in our lungs, and if it doesn't change our DNA in a way that's... ah, incompatible with life, we'll probably suffocate._

_And then I think about spending the next hundred years running the company and I wonder if it'd just be better to die. Let our bodies become part of the ecosystem. Be a part of this world forever."_

If Bart had survived, what kind of a person would he be now? He would be twenty-nine now, only a little older than Ryley. Would he have retained his sense of hope and wonder, his curiosity and compassion? Or would ten years of being second in command of Torgal Corp have driven the softness from him?

What kind of a person would he have become, if he had survived?

What kind of a person will Ryley become, if he survives?

He doesn't want to lose himself. He had been not quite fourteen years old when he had been told in no uncertain terms that his test scores weren't good enough, that _he_ was never going to be good enough to become a pilot. Not quite fourteen years old when he had been informed that his fate for the rest of his life was _non-essential systems maintenance_ , to repair and maintain coffee machines, and VR suites, and toilets.

Not quite fourteen years old. He had given up on the stars, then.

It's fourteen years later. He's sitting beside the Prawn suit he had piloted over from the ship. He's part of a Cyclops crew. He's fighting to save lives.

If he survives, he has a duty to himself and to Bart. If he survives, he knows he can't let Alterra, can't let his dictated fate tear him apart. If he survives, he has to find a way to be free, or he'll lose everything that makes him _Ryley_ and not just _non-essential systems maintenance_.

A stalker has begun slinking closer. Ryley picks up the piece of scrap he's been carrying around and throws it into the kelp; the stalker flicks its tail and makes a beeline for it.

When it returns, scrap metal clamped in its jaws only to drop it in front of him, he's not entirely sure who's more surprised when he breaks out into laughter.

Picks it up, throws it again. Begins a game of fetch with a six-metre fanged alien predator.

"You've got used to aliens, huh?" he says to the stalker, even if he's not sure it can hear him through his mask (and it's not exactly likely to speak English anyway). "Us weird bipeds in your territory. D'you think you'd let me stay? Can I share your ocean?"

Playing fetch with a stalker. Waving at a hoverfish. Sitting on the bottom of the ocean with a ghost in his ears and a world full of life all around him.

"Can I stay?" he asks the ocean, and he gets no answer but silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually use epigraphs but when I do it's for quotes from movies sampled in gorgeous music. Quote from the 2011 movie Another Earth, used as the introduction to the album A Moment Apart by ODESZA (do listen to it, the whole thing is rad!), which was in turn used in this beautiful [Subnautica tribute video by Tyviia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0AwDnVwfgU).
> 
> Also, please check out [No Waves Like Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JlR6cqdKE54) by The Stupendium - both songs reflect a lot on how I see Ryley (and are just amazing videos in general!).


	16. Chapter 16

The Cyclops is quiet.

Strictly speaking, this isn't true. There's plenty of noise from the engines, from the equipment. The occasional creak and groan of metal. The coughing.

Always the coughing.

If a doctor had overseen Jia and her crew, they would have grounded them all for sure. But their only doctor at the moment is lying in a bed in quarantine struggling to breathe, and so they have to keep going - to bring the Cyclops to the deepest parts of the crater, to keep searching and searching for a cure that might not exist.

They're making progress. The instruments have already picked up the mass of alien metal right at the eight hundred metre mark. The Disease Research Facility, Jia has dubbed it in capital letters; the scans from the quarantine platform have guided them successfully there.

Ryley is pacing. He's suited up, occasionally pausing to brush his fingers over the two alien tablets they've brought as a precaution; he's still wired from their earlier encounter with the ghostly blue leviathan that had ripped a gouge into the side of the Cyclops.

They had been lucky. It had lunged once and left. Enough time to get away, enough time for Ryley to get out and repair the damage. Enough time to take note of the pit it had been guarding and what was down there.

Still, it's not their destination. Not yet. That's the facility that the scanners say is right ahead.

But there's something different about it, this time. They had plenty of scans from the quarantine platform, from every possible angle that didn't risk them getting eaten by the leviathans that linger in that area, and it had radiated energy. This one is quiet.

This one is dead.

Part of the exterior lies shattered. Cables have been pulled loose. It lies dim and dark.

Ryley suits up, descends the ladder (awkwardly, he's holding the two alien tablets), and steps into the air lock. A moment later, he's back in view, scanning one of the damaged cables; Jia can't see his face but she's sure he's frowning like she is.

"The PDA says that this damage would need a force more than three hundred tons," he says, almost hesitantly. "That's, um, a lot of force."

"That ghost leviathan is the biggest thing we've seen down here. I don't think even it could pull that off." Vivec sounds appalled, and Jia can understand, can empathise with not wanting to know what kind of a creature could do that.

Jia opens her channel. "Ryley, there's a way in. Near the top of the facility, you see it?"

He turns obligingly, nods and kicks his way up. "Yeah. Putting my PDA on streaming mode. You got it?"

There's a bleep from the console and the damage report he had scanned earlier flashes to the top. "Got it. Head on in."

"Gotcha."

The PDA lights up again and Ryley's biometric marker stops. They're both listening as it gives its report. "Interior walls in this section are substantially reinforced," it tells them, "Indicating the designers were seeking either to keep something out, or contain it within. Whatever their intention, it failed."

"No shit," Ryley mutters. Jia doesn't even blink. "I can see another of those force fields. Hope it gives us some good data." There's the strange processing sound as the tablet clicks in and the field splutters out; Ryley's marker swims forward again and the PDA stream lights up.

"Specimen research data," Tai muses as she peers over Jia's shoulder. "What's enzyme 42?"

Jia shakes her head. "No idea."

"Sea Emperor," Ryley says softly, and there's something of fascination in his voice. "Look at that entry. 'Unidentified leviathan'. There's a facility a bit deeper down - remember that volcanic area we passed by?"

"The one the blue leviathan was guarding?" Jia points out.

"Yeah. This place is wrecked. If there's nothing here, then that's our best lead."

"Keep going," is all she says.

He does. There are ion cubes; he collects them carefully. An immense egg, specimen samples. Another data terminal with the damage report.

The damage report.

"The egg back there," Ryley is saying slowly. "The PDA called it a Sea Dragon egg. That could be the leviathan that hit it. If they were studying the bacteria here, and the facility was damaged..."

"Then this is ground zero for the bacteria," Jia finishes. "This is where it spread from. This is where it started. _This_ is why we were shot down, why the Degasi was shot down. They took an egg!"

It's soft. Jia still hears it.

"They had no right."

He keeps going.

Skeletal remains, a bizarre and twisted production line. "That's not creepy at all," Ryley says faintly. "'Self-warping quarantine enforcer unit'... have you seen anything like this?"

"No," Jia says at the same time that Tai says yes.

"I saw one while I was mining up stuff," she clarifies, gazing uncomfortably at the screen. "It had long tentacles. Saw it from a distance, then there was a flash and it disappeared. It was kind of early on."

"I think," Jia says, staring at the line 'programmable hunter/killer - avoid', "You were very, very lucky."

"There's another data terminal." Ryley's voice breaks the tense silence. "Downloading it now."

It's immense, this download. Histories, lists of symptoms. Death tolls. A hundred and forty-three billion people had died from this, and Jia, Jia can't stop staring at the last line.

_Treatment procedure: unknown._

"I'd say we're in the second stage," Ryley says, and his voice isn't just shaky, it's scratchy. He's been coughing himself hoarse. They all have. "The - the green skin lesions. They started coming up this morning. Alastair was getting them last night."

Jia is staring at her gloved hands. Staring at where she had noticed a blister rising as she had pulled them on that morning, glowing dully through her skin.

_Treatment procedure: unknown._

Tai turns to her. "We have enough fuel to head deeper," she says, "To that other facility. Even if this Sea Emperor is long dead, we might be able to find something. _Anything_."

She doesn't even hesitate. "I'm for it. Ryley, Vivec?"

"Everything's copacetic on the scanner front. I'm for it."

"And you know I am," Ryley agrees. "I don't think there's anything else here, making my way back."

He's silent on the way back. Jia watches his biomarker come closer, hears the hatch open. When he finally climbs the ladder back up to the bridge, he's subdued, still holding on to the other tablet he hadn't had to use; instead of finding a seat elsewhere he simply sits at the top of the ladder and waits.

"We have to go by Delilah to get to that lava zone," is all he says when Jia asks him about it. "I want to be ready."

Vivec snickers. "Delilah?"

He grins. "The ghost leviathan. I figure if this is our second date, we should at least be on first-name terms."

Laughing despite herself, Jia turns back to the controls then freezes. There had been a flash of light, a flash of purple, and - "Those 'self-warping quarantine enforcer units'," she murmurs, "Is that what they look like?"

Tai swallows audibly. "It is."

It doesn't touch them. Stares at them, flashes and disappears, flashes and reappears near the conning tower camera. Vivec switches to that view and tries to stare it down, hesitates, then looks away. "What do we do?"

She's in charge. Jia exhales. "Keep going. If it's going to attack, it's going to attack. Let's at least be on our way if it does."

Delilah doesn't give them any problems. The Cyclops descends into scalding water. The shields get rid of the weird parasites trying to suck the engines dry; protects them from the lava-spitting lizards. (Nothing protects them from Jia's impassioned ranting about just how biologically impossible they are.) In one sheltered spot, Ryley steps out in the shelter of the Prawn suit to collect from a large outcropping of kyanite; they stash it in one of the lockers gleefully and begin to make plans for improved depth mods and thermal reactors.

"This view is not doing anything for my fever," Jia mutters, eyeing the lava flows.

The structure in the middle is immense, and the alien columns gleam sickly green amidst the red and orange. Jia can feel cool dread in her stomach to contrast with the lava outside; she takes Ryley aside as he collects the last tablet and prepares to board the Prawn again.

"Ryley," she murmurs, "Be careful. We don't know what's down there, and if it really does go down a couple hundred metres, you're going to be pushing the Prawn's depth limits."

He nods, but his jaw is set in an obstinate way that's becoming fast familiar. "I know. But this could be our last chance. If there's anything left of this Sea Emperor, I can get samples or something, and - they ran out of time, but we might not."

"Yeah." She closes her eyes. "Good luck."

Smiling wanly, he clambers into the Prawn suit and descends.

It's tense, waiting aboard the Cyclops, watching the Prawn and biotracker indicators on the maps. Ryley doesn't say a great deal, just quiet comments to let them know he is, in fact, still alive; comments on the alien eggs he's seeing, the lava lizards, the kyanite-studded walls.

"Whoa," he whispers, and then clears his throat. "Um, I'm not sure this is deep enough yet. We're not even at twelve hundred metres. But it's definitely a facility."

"Active?"

"Yeah. Yeah, this one is active."

The symbols split; Ryley's biotracker moves a few paces away from the Prawn. "I'm inside," he says, and his voice sounds different; his helmet is off. "Breathable air. It's warm, but like... normal warm, not lava warm."

"Lava is just warm?" Vivec points out with a smile.

Ryley laughs. "Yeah. Anyway." His marker is moving, back and forth; he's exploring. "Okay," he sighs. "Okay, dilemma. I have one tablet left, but there's _two_ force fields. One has another tablet and this one is _blue_. The other has this whole... power facility. Data terminals, all this crackling electrical stuff. Hang on, let me..."

He trails off, and an image pops through to the console, taken by his PDA. Behind the force field is what looks like an entire power station; Jia leans forward despite herself in sheer fascination.

"And the power facility uses a purple tablet? Not the blue one?"

"Yeah, it's purple."

"Okay. Do that one. There were other purple tablets inside the first facility, there might be others here."

He nods; then there's a sharp crackle that leaves Jia wincing and pulling at her earpiece. "...there? I... read you -" His marker seems to be scrambled; it clears up as he retreats from the entrance of the new room. "Sorry. I think there's a lot of interference in there. I can go back in, but you'll be blind for a little bit."

There could be an answer there. There _has_ to be an answer there. "Okay. Be careful," Jia says tightly.

"Okay. Going in."

His marker stutters again, then disappears altogether. Jia sits back with a sigh, glancing across at Tai and Vivec.

"He'll be fine," she says, more or less trying to convince herself.

Vivec smiles uneasily. "Yeah."

It's very quiet. Just engines and equipment, groaning and creaking from the stressed metal. The sound of coughing. Jia coughs into her sleeve and wipes her mouth, then her fever-sweaty forehead with the other sleeve.

More or less all at the same time, the Cyclops lurches violently to one side, a roar so loud it makes her ears ring echoing through the heated water; the Cyclops' klaxon starts blaring out: "Warning: creature attack!"

It's not a creature. It's a _monster_.

Green skin, dotted with glowing lines; long tentacles, immensely powerful front arms. Twice as long, at least, as the blue leviathan. When it roars, Jia sees flames flickering in its throat.

She knows, instantly and instinctively, that _this_ is a Sea Dragon.

"Evasive manoeuvres!" she shouts; the Cyclops twists again to avoid the next mighty blow and she staggers sideways. Launching herself back at the console, she clings on with one hand and blasts the shields to maximum with the other, hits the comms and calls, "Ryley, dammit, get back here!"

His signal is still blank, though; he's still shut off, safe but on his own; he has no idea that they've come under attack. She signals him again and again as she struggles to keep the Cyclops from overheating; when the radio crackles back on she nearly sobs with relief.

It's not Ryley.

"Officer Yu," says Slade calmly, and she feels a knot under her ribs tighten. "You are under orders to evacuate the area immediately."

"No can do." Her teeth are gritted as she clings to her console; the leviathan has hit the stabilisers. "Ryley's still not back yet."

He sounds so damn _calm_. "I know. You are still required to evacuate. You are at risk of losing a fully-equipped Cyclops."

"Yes, we're kind of under attack, we're going to go as soon as Ryley gets -"

"The life of one non-essential crew member who is already sick is not worth losing a fully upgraded Cyclops," Slade almost snaps, the calmness dissolving, and it says something about the crew that Jia has formed, the crew that she's fighting side by side with, that even in the midst of trying to survive they still all stare at the radio in appalled silence.

From behind her, Vivec says, "What the _fuck_ ," and Jia can't even bring herself to reprimand him.

She's glaring at the console, and the knot in her ribs has turned into a storm, and she feels sick and tired and burning with fury. "Are you ordering me to abandon my crew member?"

"Yes."

"Thought so. No."

With a smack at the screen that's harder than necessary, she cuts communications to the Aurora, grits her teeth as the leviathan screams again. "Ryley, dammit, come in!"

His biomarker fizzes back into existence. "Okay, I found -"

"Never mind, just get back here!" she shouts, panic making her loud and angry, loud and frustrated; Ryley pauses in surprise and then his biomarker speeds up as he starts sprinting back to the Prawn.

"What's going on?" he calls as he snaps the helmet back on, scrambles back into the Prawn; Jia can see the marker as he launches himself across the cavern. "Leviathan?"

"Yeah, and it's huge and spits fire!"

There's muffled swearing; she can hear the sound of the Prawn under strain through his mic. The signal is getting closer, but they've twisted away from the cavern opening in the fight; now, Jia flings an arm back in its direction. "Tai, get us back down there; Vivec, find us an exit!"

It's a rocky ride, with the stabilisers gone and a leviathan at their heels. Rocks crumble. The Prawn signal brightens and there's a flash of hot pink as it reappears; Ryley is already launching himself on to higher ground to meet with them.

There's a thump; Jia starts again, her hitched breath launching her into a fit of coughing. _Dammit, not now!_ she tells herself, bites her lip; Ryley is saying that he's latched on and to go, _go_.

He's danging from a cord latched on to a damaged submarine more than a kilometre below the surface and surrounded by lava, and a dragon pursuing them. If it decided to turn Ryley into a snack, there would be nothing more they could do.

The Cyclops is lurching upwards; without the stabilisers, it can't stay horizontal. Either way, there's the snap and hiss as the Prawn docks; Ryley literally climbs out and back up to the bridge.

"What took you?" Jia says faintly, and he gives her a strained laugh.

"Boss, Vivec, lock your seats forward," Tai is saying. "I'm gonna make a straight shot for that entrance, but we're going to be tilting at a pretty hard angle. Ryley, get in front of something and hold on!"

"Warning," the Cyclops AI says, "Engine heat critical."

Jia has been in space. She's been in ships both with and without grav plating; she's experienced launch and landing.

This is nothing like it. This is the Cyclops tilted at an angle it's not meant to go at, this is gravity pressing her back into her chair as things crash and clatter. This is Ryley bracing himself between a wall and a locker, Vivec with his eyes squeezed shut and mouthing inaudible words, Tai's hands flying over the controls.

From behind them, from the engines, there's an explosion, a rush of heat. "Warning, fire detected!" the AI tells them; Jia twists around to see flames licking up from the engine bay, to see the view rapidly becoming obscured by smoke. She's swearing under her breath, swearing and hoping for them to go faster, to last longer, to make it out of the caves; if they can escape the caves, they can escape with their lives -

"Warning, hull integrity critical."

Ryley glances ahead at the screen where the ghost leviathan waits, then back down at the flames. And then he launches himself out from between the wall and the lockers, sliding down the sharply tilting floor, launches himself straight at the burning engine.

"No!" she yelps, choked off by smoke.

But he's grabbed the door frame with one hand, slowed his momentum; used it to swing himself to the other wall to grab the extinguisher before scrambling back across the wall and into the engine bay. With one hand, he clings to the door frame and with the other, he smothers the flames; drops the empty extinguisher where it slides down to crash against the far wall, reaches for the repair tool.

"Caution," the AI tells them, "Hull integrity low."

"Go!"

Tai is piloting half blind, squinting through the smoke that's still lingering; at Ryley's call, the Cyclops speeds up even further. Jia hits the air scrubbers, feeling the wheeze in her chest; she's operating on pure adrenaline and a dose of panic.

They're not even close to being safe yet. They're only just approaching the entrance to the cold green river they had been before; there's a monster behind them and Delilah ahead.

Maybe they'll fight, she thinks wildly, distract each other -

"Warning, hull integrity criti- warning, engine overhea- warning, engine heat critica-"

Multiple warnings, overlapped, one after the other; Ryley is fixing ruptures in the hull, fixing the damaged engines, but they're collapsing faster than he can keep up the repairs -

"Warning, fire detected."

"Ryley!" Vivec calls urgently; he's pried one of the other extinguishers from the locker nearest him and is now half hanging off the chair. "Catch!"

Ryley glances up in time to haul himself back to brace against the wall, reaching out and waiting; the extinguisher is heavy and Jia can hear his yelp of pain when he does manage to grab it but he's still moving, still spraying at the flames, still repairing the damage; keeping them intact, keeping them going.

They're out of the lava zone. They're into the river, zipping past the ghost leviathan; they're nearly home free and Tai brings them out of flank speed as soon as they're past it, but the damage is done and the Cyclops is starting to die.

"Emergency," the AI tells them as sunlight filtering through water bursts into view, "Hull failure imminent. Abandon ship!"

Ryley still has his air tank on (and she doesn't want to think, doesn't want to consider what might have happened if the flames had reached it); for herself and the others, they grab the ones next to their stations, slide down the ladder, crowd into the air lock.

Jia places the mask over her face and pops the hatch, and she and her crew plunge into the ocean.

"Get away from the ship!" she orders through the masks.

Ryley is the strongest swimmer, Tai next. She and Vivec aren't; Tai has hold of her arm to pull her along and Vivec is practically clinging to Ryley's shoulders, and they need to move faster, get clear, get back to safety and to cool clean air -

Swimming for their lives, swimming to save themselves, still down so deep and with predators nipping at their heels and a hand around hers and _she can't breathe_ -

It's Tai, Tai pulling her through the water, not her pulling Emery through the water; they're in a different biome entirely and the danger is rapidly diminishing as they leave the shattered sub, and it's not inhabited lifepods exploding around her ears but the empty Cyclops.

Jia bursts into the air and laughs, laughs giddily because they're out and they're safe. The four of them are treading water and the Aurora is close. Jia taps a recall message to send out a boat for them, then drifts on to her back and closes her eyes and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By overwhelming request of... one, Sims 4 players can now download my [Subnautica Sims](https://www.reddit.com/r/subnautica/comments/cgqy67/no_spoilers_subnautica_sims/), plus an extra household with [Yu, Vivec, and Tai](https://www.ea.com/games/the-sims/the-sims-4/pc/gallery/7CA81E66ACE511E98EF8DB45D57D7787)! You can also pick up the [Keep Calm poster](https://www.reddit.com/r/subnautica/comments/c8yp17/no_spoilers_i_converted_the_keep_calm_poster_for/) for your game!
> 
> Yeah Vivec really is that extra.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Discussion of suicide.

When word spreads that a rescue boat has been sent out to meet with the Cyclops crew, Ozzy starts pacing and does not stop until the sharp thrum of the docking mechanism rings through the cargo bay.

He's at the door immediately. There's anxiety sitting so solidly in his stomach that he can't properly draw breath (although that's also the bacteria, the bacteria and the pneumonia Alastair says they're all developing). He knows he's not going to relax until he sees Ryley alive and unscathed for himself, and even then he probably will just keep stressing regardless.

The quarantine is unease. It's not just Ozzy who's been worrying.

But they do appear, the four of them. Ryley is leaning against heavily against Vivec, hair crushed down by the helmet and his cheeks fever-pink. Alive, but hurt or sick, worse off than the others. Ozzy is at his side before he can even think about conscious movement.

"What happened?" he asks as he reaches them, holding an arm out for Ryley, to bring him back into the fold.

He's not the only one who's rushed over, though, and this new girl is still in uniform, gamely trying to look official despite the green blisters clustered around her temples. "Um, CTO," she says hesitantly to Yu, "Commander Slade is waiting for you. He wants you to contact him immediately."

Yu grimaces. "Thought as much. Well, guys," she adds to the crew, "Wish me luck, because I am _not_ gonna be polite."

Ozzy glances at Ryley in confusion; Ryley shrugs back, similarly perplexed.

"Do you want us to come with you, Jia?" the other girl (Tai, that's it) asks gently; the CTO shakes her head.

"Nope. If he's going to take it out on anyone, it'll be me. Uh -" She hesitates, glances between Tai and Vivec. "Someone better fill Ryley in. Later."

She jogs off. Ryley looks no clearer.

Tai heaves a sigh, turns to Ozzy. "Do you know Ani Serrento?" she asks him, "Do you know how she's doing?"

Ozzy frowns, places name to face. "Blonde, tattoos?" Tai nods. "Yeah, I saw her earlier. She was sleeping, was feeling pretty bad."

"I better go check up on her," Tai says, and bites her lip. "Vivec, can you...?"

He nods. Tai gives him a grateful smile and retreats as well.

Vivec doesn't speak immediately; when he does, he glances around first. "We should hit the showers. Not quite as open," he finally says, and gestures vaguely at the crowded room.

"A shower sounds _excellent_ ," Ryley sighs.

He's shaking from adrenaline. Fine tremors running through his body. Ozzy's arm tightens around his waist.

They're alone in the showers, at least. Vivec starts to strip off; Ryley tries to but stops with a gasp of pain that immediately draws Ozzy to his side. "My shoulder," he says through gritted teeth when Ozzy reaches for him; "Nothing broken, but I can't get this suit off on my own."

"What happened?" Ozzy repeats, feeling lost. Ryley's shoulder, the call from Slade, the secrecy... he helps Ryley undress and hisses at the bruising he finds there, helps him strip away the reinforced suit that clearly hasn't done its job.

"My shoulder? High-velocity fire extinguisher."

"Sorry," Vivec winces.

"Better some bruises than being blown to bits," Ryley says, then lets out a short laugh. "Hey, that's alliterative."

"Sorry," Ozzy repeats, "Did you say _blown to bits_?"

Ryley smiles wanly and steps under the water, sighing in relief. "We got attacked by a leviathan and a fire started while we were escaping. I had to fix it." Scrubbing at his hair one-handed, he turns back to Vivec. "But I'm guessing I missed something. What did the boss want you to fill me in on?"

Vivec's eyes are closed; he's faced into the stream of water. For a moment, Ozzy wonders if he just didn't hear, if he should ask again or get Ryley to do so, because something happened and he _needs to know_.

"There's no easy way to say this," he finally says, the words falling like tar, reluctant to make themselves known. "Ryley, when you were in that facility - while we were waiting for you to get out - Slade contacted us. He said to evacuate. The boss said no, you still weren't back. Slade - that fucking _shitheap_ -"

He punches the side of the shower. Ozzy starts violently.

"He said to leave you behind. That your goddamn _life_ wasn't worth as much as a, and I quote, 'fully-equipped Cyclops'. The boss said 'no, fuck you' and cut him off. Well, she didn't literally say 'fuck you', but the sentiment was absolutely there. So, uh, I'm guessing he's pretty pissed off."

Ryley is silent. Vivec glances past Ozzy at him; Ozzy turns too to see Ryley gazing at the shower stall wall, his expression blank and only a furrow in his brow indication that he's not entirely calm.

"Ryley?" Vivec asks cautiously, and finally, Ryley lets out a laugh.

It's cynical. More pessimistic than Ozzy has heard from him in a while. "Well, it's one thing to have the feeling Alterra doesn't give a shit about you," he says with a sardonic smile. "Nice of them to actually confirm that I'm worthless, though."

The rage that's started bubbling in Ozzy's stomach at Vivec's words turns to ice. He wants to find Slade, drag the man that's calling himself their commanding officer over to Ryley by the hair and to force him to apologise, to face up to what he's done. He wants to punish him. To _hurt_ him.

Ozzy likes to think that he's relaxed, friendly, easy to get along with. But Slade has confirmed that he sees Ryley as having less inherent worth than a machine. He's made Ozzy's best friend hurt. Made him think himself as worthless.

Worthless!

Slade is not there. He's outside of quarantine, untouchable. But Ryley is right here, and hurting, and Ozzy ignores that he's still fully clothed and steps into the shower stall to pull Ryley into a crushing hug.

"You're not worthless," he murmurs into Ryley's ear, and his voice cracks. "Don't you _dare_ think you're worthless."

Ryley hesitates, then reaches behind him one-handed to shut off the water (not that it matters much, Ozzy is already soaked and also doesn't care) and then turns back to Ozzy and buries his face against his shoulder.

He's shaking, again. Ozzy suspects that this time it's from more than just adrenaline.

The other shower shuts off; there's the sound of bare feet on tile. "Ryley?" comes Vivec's voice softly, "I know we don't know each other well, but shit, you're not worthless. You saved all our lives. Fuck Slade, you're worth a million of him."

Ryley smiles faintly against Ozzy's shoulder. "Thanks."

Vivec smiles sadly. Turns to get dried off. "It's true, though."

Ozzy exhales against Ryley's hair. He's burning with anger, so furious he wonders if Ryley can feel it, but there's the ever-present anxiety behind it; he can feel worry for both Ryley and Alastair fighting to be the foremost in his thoughts.

"Want to get dried off?" he murmurs, "I want to get back to Alastair." Ryley jerks; Ozzy adds even before he can say anything; "Don't even think about feeling guilty about not thinking about him, you had bigger things on your mind. Okay?"

"Okay," Ryley says softly, and draws away. "Okay."

Ozzy's shirt is soaked, so he hangs that up to dry alongside Ryley and Vivec's dive suits; wraps a spare towel around his shoulders to ward off the chill and to hide the unsightly blisters. They've only just left the showers when CTO Yu jogs up, not even raising an eyebrow at her crew members dressed only in towels. She looks more tired than Ozzy feels.

"Short version," she tells them wearily, "We've been grounded. We'll debrief in the morning, rest up tonight."

Ryley winces. "Wait, before you go, I need to tell you something," he says, and draws her aside.

Ozzy can't quite make out the words; Ryley has his back to them and all he can see is the CTO shape the words, "You're sure?" and "Okay. Okay, I'll try." He's still confused when they return, Yu looking intrigued and Ryley stubborn; he catches Ozzy's eye and nods back in the direction of their beds.

"After breakfast?" Vivec confirms, and they part ways.

It's just the two of them now. Ryley slips close to Ozzy, bumping their shoulders; he glances in the direction of their beds as they walk. "How is he?" he asks, and despite his earlier words, Ozzy can still hear the guilt in it.

Worry wins out over anger. He sighs, then almost doubles over coughing again; it's both a symptom and an answer. "Bad," he says when he recovers from the bout. "He said his immune system isn't great, that's why he's started showing symptoms before everyone else. He's convinced he's going to be the first to die. Definitely has pneumonia now. We all do."

Ryley nods silently. Just short of the bed where Alastair is sleeping, he stops, squeezes Ozzy's hand. "I'll save him," he says, and his voice is solemn. "I promise, I'll get that cure."

_How?_ Ozzy doesn't say. _How can you even begin to fight this thing? Where do you even start?_

"Yeah," is all he says out loud, and sits down on the bed as carefully as he can to not wake Alastair.

He wakes anyway, blinking and smiling blearily when he sees Ryley is back too. "Hey," he says, voice still scratchy, "How was it?"

"Good," Ryley says immediately as he pulls on his pyjama pants and an oversized shirt, turned carefully so Alastair can't see his bruises, and Ozzy can feel his eyebrows rising. "We've made a lot of progress." He lies down, stretching out beside Alastair and kissing a non-blistered patch on his cheek; his eyes close. "We found something down there. Something good. I'm going to save you, I promise."

"Bathroom," Ozzy mumbles, and stumbles away from them.

He knows _why_ Ryley is lying, of course. He knows. He knows how important hope is, that if Alastair knew for sure that they were grounded, he would decline even faster. That the hope is all that's keeping him going.

But he doesn't know how long they can keep going like this.

Sooner or later, Alastair will learn the truth. Sooner or later, they'll start getting sicker and sicker, he'll start to see the lack of missions, he'll start to realise that there's no one coming to save them.

Sooner or later, they'll all die.

There's no help from outside. Slade is killing them without getting his hands dirty, through grounding them, through prioritising machinery over human lives. Through refusing to give them the medicines that might help them survive just long enough to save the rest.

There is no doubt in his mind that Slade, that Alterra, has given up on them. That their fate is to quietly waste away in quarantine like good little Infected, to stop depleting valuable resources that could be used for people with a life expectancy of longer than a week.

There's euthanasia drugs on the ship. Alastair had mentioned them once, as a possible last resort. Ozzy has no doubt that Slade would be quite happy to let them have _those_. If it came down to it, if the choice truly was a prolonged and painful death from illness or a quiet, quick end, would it really be that bad? There already had been one suicide after news of the infection had broken, and he honestly can't tell if it was done in panic and haste or if they had had the right idea all along.

If Ryley thought he could save them, then Ozzy would follow him to the end, because more than anything he trusted him. But if he truly was trapped here in quarantine, if all of his discoveries were wasted because of Alterra, would those drugs really be such a bad option instead of just waiting?

Ozzy doesn't want to die. He still wants to see more, do more. Meet more people, eat more food, listen to more music. He doesn't want to give it all up, not yet, because he's barely thirty and he hasn't even started properly living yet.

But if he knew he had no choice in the matter, if his only choices were dying slowly and painfully from the illness or dying quickly from the drugs, could he make that decision?

Ryley and Alastair are both asleep when he returns, curled up together. Ozzy finds himself watching them, wonders what would become of them if they did live. Would he develop a true friendship with Alastair? He can see it happening. Even now, he's already become important to him; Ozzy clinging to whatever he can to keep his head above water, Alastair occupying his thoughts and his heart almost as much as Ryley.

Would Ryley and Alastair fall for each other? Alastair had been so wary of Ryley, right from the start; he had wanted Ozzy and Ryley had become incidental. Now, they hold on to each other, they draw comfort from each other. Alastair's nose is pressed against the side of Ryley's neck. Ryley clings to Alastair like a security blanket. Could something grow there, something organic and honest?

Alastair wanted so much to be loved, so much that Ozzy had promised to lie to him. And Ryley, Ryley had wanted and needed the companionship he had found with Ozzy and the rest of the support crew, knew that he loved Ozzy as a friend but also still felt that romantic longing, that he loved the idea of being _in_ love.

They were bound by Alterra. Caught up in its machinery. It was entirely likely that if they did survive, they would ultimately be split apart again and there would be nothing any of them could do about it. Not without leaving everything they knew; not without a change bigger than crash-landing on an alien planet and infected with a bacteria that was killing them.

Ozzy slips beneath the blankets, curls himself around Ryley's body. Closes his eyes, because it's the only thing he can do.

If they lived, what would become of them?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter after only four days?! Inconceivable!

Alastair wakes the same way he's awakened for the last few days - with steadily worsening pain, lightheaded, his chest aching deep behind his ribs. His skin is burning like he's sunburned (which, admittedly is something he's more used to than he strictly should be), the blisters aching down to his bones; his throat feels raw.

For long minutes, he keeps his eyes shut. Tries to find sleep again, to escape the illness. Ryley (cuddled up to him) and Ozzy (on Ryley's other side, one gangly arm draped over both of them) are still asleep; it would be so easy to drift off again with them.

It's getting harder to be aware of what's going on around him, but he knows something about the day before wasn't right. He had heard commotion and had seen Ozzy pacing, anxious, frenetic; he thought he had heard shouting from the direction of the communication booth as he had drifted in and out of sleep.

Ryley had tried to hide the way he was moving when he had returned, to keep his body angled when he had got changed to hide the bruising his shirt doesn't quite conceal now. He had claimed it had gone well a little _too_ quickly. That everything was alright. That he was going to find a way to save him.

Alastair can't quite accept it. Can't let himself get his hopes up. He's already resigned to how things are going to end, and if he lets himself believe otherwise, the loss of hope will end him.

It's better this way, isn't it? Accepting the worst-case scenario. Anything to the contrary will be a pleasant surprise, this way.

He knows why they do it. Why Ozzy doesn't share his worries, why Ryley hides his pain. He knows full well that they do it for his benefit, to keep his hopes up, and he adores them both for it.

But sometimes, sometimes he just wishes they could be honest with him on what's really happening. Let him share the burden, too.

Alastair exhales slowly, feeling the pain flare deep in his lungs again, and winces. Ryley has shifted slightly in his sleep, the loose shirt revealing that bruise again. It's deep purple against his skin, a hard edge to it; half holding his breath, Alastair delicately traces the line.

What had happened down there? What was Ryley facing? He had something within him that Alastair could never have, an inner store of determination and courage. It kept his legs moving when his body was near collapse, when the same illness drove Alastair to sleep and sleep and sleep.

How could he be so brave, when things around them were so bad?

Ryley's lashes flutter. Alastair draws his hand away guiltily, but Ryley is already opening his eyes, still unfocused, smiling at him sheepishly.

"Sorry," he whispers scratchily, "I didn't want to worry you."

"What happened?"

"We had a rough time." For a moment, Ryley worries at his lip, then admits, "We were attacked by a leviathan, and a fire started on the Cyclops. Vivec threw an extinguisher to me and, uh, I didn't catch it very well."

"Oh." Alastair frowns, half caught up in images of leviathans and fire, half feeling something bubble in his chest at Ryley confiding in him, and leans forward to place a soft kiss over the worst of the bruising.

Ryley makes a tiny, breathy noise.

Alastair exhales, forcing the air out slowly through his ruined lungs. "Thank you for telling me," he murmurs, and stretches out beside him again to kiss his lips again. "I know you try to keep the worst of it from me, but please, let me share the burden of what you're going through too. I'm not..." He struggles, shakes his head. "I'm not fragile."

"I know. I know you're not." Ryley's eyes are closed again; he leans in for another kiss like a whisper. "I'm sorry. The stuff I'm seeing down there - it's amazing, and it's terrifying, and sometimes I'm not sure if what I'm seeing is real or if I'm going crazy. I wasn't lying last night, I think I really did find something that could help save us all. But I don't know if it's real. If I can get to it, if it is real. If I can do it in time to save you. And that scares the shit out of me."

He sounds uncertain. Lost. The confidence he's shown so far, the unflagging optimism, it's set aside for now.

Ryley Robinson, to Alastair's quiet awe, is _afraid_.

Alastair kisses him again, tries to put everything he's feeling into it. His 'thank you for trying to save me'. His 'thank you for trusting me'. He wants to tell Ryley he's honoured at the vulnerability, that he knows Ryley won't stop until he succeeds or dies, that he makes Alastair want to be brave too.

When all this had started, it had been Ozzy he had gravitated to. Ozzy whose voice had kept him sane throughout the worst of it; Ozzy whose innocent touch had brought him back from beneath the waves.

But Ryley had been there too. Quietly, without noticing, he had taken up a part of Alastair's heart too.

It's very like him. Who would ever notice the non-essential systems maintenance worker? Who would ever expect him to be the one with the courage and the determination and the willingness to put himself on the line to save them all?

"You're kind of amazing, do you know that?" Alastair half-chuckles when he pulls back. "The fact that you're scared but keep going no matter what - you're amazing."

Ryley shakes his head. "I'm not. I'm not, I just -" His voice cracks and he turns away to cough, body curling in on itself; Alastair rubs his arms, shoulders, whatever he can reach to soothe the pain, his own chest twinging painfully.

"Breathe in. Slowly and steadily. Don't try to force it. Just let yourself breathe."

Miserably, Ryley nods; he's breathless when he curls against Alastair again, burying his face against his shoulder. "I'm not," he says again, his voice small. "I just know that if I _could_ do something and I didn't, I'd never forgive myself. I was useless before, but if I can help, I can't _not_ do it."

Alastair's heart sinks. _Useless_. "You're not useless," he says, and kisses Ryley again like he's trying to prove just how much he needs him.

From Ryley's other side, there's a sleepy chuckle. "Told you, man." Ozzy looks sleep-rumpled but smiling; Alastair feels his cheeks heat up as he draws away and wonders how much of their conversation he had heard.

What would Ozzy make of this? He had suggested they were stronger together instead of Ozzy-and-Ryley and Alastair-and-Ozzy; what did he make of Alastair-and-Ryley?

Although, given the way Ozzy has immediately claimed Ryley's mouth as soon as he and Alastair part, given the way he turns to Alastair as well as soon as he spots him watching, their dynamic still very much is three and not two.

Or whatever the dynamic is with all three of them still so sick. Alastair drags himself away from Ozzy, twists around in the bed, and falls into a coughing fit so forceful he feels what little he's been able to eat violently expel itself; when he's done he feels wrung-out, clammy and exhausted.

Pushing himself back up, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry," he says miserably.

"It's not your fault," Ozzy says immediately, pulling him into his arms and handing Alastair a tissue to wipe his mouth and hand. "It's this fucking bacteria. It's not your fault."

Ryley has been watching in silence; now, he reaches out for Alastair's hand and squeezes it. "I'm going to save you," he says, and the fear from before is gone, replaced with a drive so deep Alastair isn't sure Ryley even knows he has it. "I promise."

 

Ryley leaves eventually for his briefing, and Ozzy goes with him to pick up their daily rations. Already, Alastair has gone off his coffee, requesting plain water to drink and warm salt water to rinse the unpleasantness from the back of his throat; he's utilising every tactic he can think of to ease his symptoms.

But, alone, the thoughts start returning. Does it matter if Ryley can find a cure, if it comes too late? The world is not a video game; there is no way to go from 'dying' to 'fully cured' without a fight.

Alastair didn't spend his entire medical degree with his eyes shut and his fingers in his ears. Failed attempt at a doctor notwithstanding, he still knows the symptoms of pneumonia and how many consequences there can be. He knows about the possibility of the infection spreading to his heart or his blood. He knows the risk of organ failure from anoxia, that every time he struggles to breathe, he's doing his organs damage. He knows the risk of brain damage. He could suffocate.

And it's not just pneumonia, either. It's an alien bacteria. Even if he survives the pneumonia, what else will it do to him?

Now that they have this illness, now that they're already this sick, can any of them even survive it, no matter what Ryley does or finds?

Slowly, carefully, he stumbles to the showers to rinse the sickness away. Beyond the pain and illness, he hates how being sick makes him feel; like his body is unclean, that everything he touches becomes filthy by association. (It's not quite as bad as the fully-fledged germophobia he had gone through after his microbiology course, but still. Still, he can practically _feel_ the bacteria in his blood and in his skin.)

Disease-riddled invalids, he thinks with a sardonic smile. No wonder the uninfected are staying away. It's not just for their health; Alastair can't help but wonder if they all stink of sickness and death too.

Stars. They're all dying. He's a dying, stinking, lying wreck of a man, and he's never been himself a day in his life.

He's made up his mind by the time he returns from the showers, feeling at least a little cleaner but already feeling invisible germs start to crawl back over his skin. If he doesn't ever get better, then he wants those closest to him to know; he's already said it once when he thought he was sure to die, but this time feels different.

This time, it's not a desperate confession to his PDA.

Ryley is courageous. Ozzy has integrity. He needs to be more like them and less like... like himself; he needs to stop lying.

Ozzy is already back by the time Alastair returns, long legs stretched out in front of him and coffee in hand; wordlessly, Alastair climbs back into bed and to his side. Almost automatically, like it's become habit, Ozzy wraps an arm around his shoulders; Alastair relaxes into the touch.

This is a lie too, though, isn't it? This is Ozzy pretending, and at Alastair's own request. And as comforting as it is, he's not sure it's what he needs any more.

"Ozzy?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"You don't have to."

One-handed, Ozzy sets the coffee down on the narrow shelf beside the bed. "Don't have to what, Al?" he says, and stars, dammit, he sounds so _gentle_...

Alastair closes his eyes. "Keep pretending," he says, and the next words trip out. "W-with me. About what I asked you to do, to - to love me."

Ozzy doesn't respond verbally, but instead nudges Alastair upright, shifts so that they're facing each other, cross-legged on the bed. Ozzy reaches for his hands and stares at them, looks up and stares at _him_ like he's looking into Alastair's soul.

"I don't think I am," he says, and it's full of wonder. "It's still not like... romantic. It's not like we're gonna run off and get married and stuff. But you're important to me, and I didn't even notice when it happened, but..."

There's pink across his cheeks, and he's biting his lip, and Alastair can't help but find it irresistibly cute. He wants to kiss the uncertainty off his face, the bitten lip.

"Originally, I thought there wasn't time to learn to love you the same way I love Ryley. But I guess this fuckin' illness just kind of... accelerated things, and this is gonna sound mushier than potatoes, but you kind of ended up in my heart anyway. So I think I do. Love you, I mean."

What can he say to that, that doesn't sound trite? 'Thanks'? Thanks for loving him? Thanks for living the lie until it became real? 'I love you too'? He knows he does. _Ozzy_ knows he does. And Alastair is self-aware enough to know that any way he says it won't mean the same as it does coming from Ozzy.

He self-consciously wipes his eyes, gulps in a breath, and says, "I need to tell you something. You and Ryley." The corner of his lip turns up in a small, sad smile. "Both of you are brave, and you're both..." Helplessly, he waves a hand. "You both have an honesty about yourselves. An integrity. So I need to be brave and honest too."

Wordlessly, Ozzy nods. Carefully moves to lean back against the head of the bed, extends an arm to Alastair. He curls in immediately, closes his eyes, takes comfort from warmth and contact.

He's loved. And if that part has become honest, then can't he let himself be honest about the rest?

Ryley returns from the debrief, smiles at them both; he looks vibrant, crackling with energy despite the visible signs of illness. Scrambling on to the bed, he leans in, murmurs, "We have a plan. I can't tell you the details, the less you know, the safer you'll be, but we're going to fix this. Promise."

"I know," Ozzy says, and smiles like the sun.

Alastair can't. He's feeling panic beginning to flutter in his chest at the words he's going to say, the damage - perhaps irreparable - he's going to do to how they see him. And he doesn't have to, because a part of him knows that he could easily die without ever breathing a word, but...

But...

Ozzy, finding the real in the lie. Ryley, living his convictions. "I have to tell you something," he says again, softly.

First, he turns to Ryley. Considers for a long moment, fidgets with his sleeve, coughs once then clears his throat. "I trust you. What I don't trust are bodies. Even if you find a cure, there's no guarantee that it'll act immediately. With how sick we're getting, even if it never goes beyond pneumonia, we could still die, and - and it would _not_ be your fault."

"Alastair," Ryley starts, and his voice cracks, because there's no way he hasn't had the thought cross his mind.

He can't stop now. Has to keep going. Alastair closes his eyes. "If I'm going to die, I'm not going to die with my lies hanging over my head. Ozzy, I told you once that during my schooling, they just saw me as a gifted student - capital G, capital S, Gifted Student. Right?"

Ozzy nods wordlessly.

"So that's what I had to become. At all costs. I could never tell them how much I was struggling. How much I hated it. That I didn't have anything else, so I had to become the role they pushed me into. The Gifted Student. The medical student. The future doctor." He stares at the blankets. Picks at a threadbare patch, so he doesn't have to look at Ozzy or Ryley. "It was okay at first. I was overwhelmed, but I could keep up with enough of it. But it got to be too much. I started cheating in my exams and assignments, just for the sake of keeping up with what they wanted me to be. I cheated my final exams and I'm not... actually... qualified to be a doctor."

He's expecting blame. He's expecting condemnation. He's not expecting Ozzy to laugh breathlessly, and to pull him onto his lap and into his arms, and to press a kiss to the back of Alastair's head.

"Man. _Fucking_ Alterra."

Alastair opens his eyes and blinks in surprise. He can't see Ozzy the way he's being held, but he can see Ryley, who's smiling warmly and sympathetically and who reaches for Alastair's hand when he spots him looking and squeezes like he's trying to get all his sincerity into the one gesture.

"You - what?"

"Fucking Alterra," Ozzy says again, and laughs, and this time there's genuine frustration in it. "They do this to us, y'know? I got lucky in that they let me cook. But you two - they both tried to mould you according to their views. They fucked both of you over. What would you do if the tests hadn't put you in medicine?"

He feels absurdly close to tears. Alastair's voice catches and stutters; Ryley strokes his hand. "I - I don't know. I n-never got a choice, I don't - I can't -"

Ozzy presses another kiss into his hair again; Alastair can feel the warmth from his body radiating from his skin. "Well, Ryley's gonna save us. You're gonna have the whole universe to choose from. We're gonna survive, and this time, we're gonna live our lives the way _we_ want to. And nothing - not a shitty alien bacteria and not _fuckin'_ Alterra - is gonna stop us."


	19. Chapter 19

Of all the ways to wake up, 'dizzy, aching, feverish, with a pounding headache, and a timid crew member saying, "Um, sir, Commander Slade is on the comms and he sounds angry"' is probably in Noah's five least favourite ways.

For a long moment, he's considering feigning still being asleep. It wouldn't be unreasonable. They're all sick, and the idea of succumbing to his exhaustion is alarmingly tempting.

Noah drags himself out of bed.

He's definitely not looking presentable, sleep-rumpled, unshaven, and splattered with green blisters. Still, he makes a token effort to straighten his hair out as he follows the crew member to the comms, tries not to look _too_ fatigued as he takes a seat in front of the screen.

"Commander Slade," he says, only a little hoarsely.

Slade raises a well-groomed eyebrow, looking him over. "You're not looking well, Keen," he observes mildly, then sits back with folded arms. "I have come to a decision regarding yesterday's... unfortunate circumstances."

Noah struggles to dredge the day before to the forefront of his mind. Yu had gone on another mission... oh. Yes. "The loss of the Cyclops, sir? CTO Yu explained that it might be possible to continue on with Prawn suits only, and they're a smaller investment. She's requested that the grounding be reversed -"

"Did she also explain that she disobeyed a direct order from me?"

Noah blinks. "No. No, she did not."

Slade does not answer immediately. He's staring at Noah, the faintest of frowns on his face; the fingers of one hand tap against his arm.

Then, he shakes his head.

"Keen, you know as well as I do that we are in a precarious position right now. I have nearly fifty healthy crew members here who I _must_ prioritise. In triage, you take those most in need first - but if they are beyond help, then you most focus on those who actually stand a chance of survival. The missions are taking up too many resources. And for what?"

Noah remains silent. Beneath the view of the camera, his hands are balled into fists so tight he can feel his nails cutting into his palms.

"You have my condolences, but I am confining all infected to the cargo bay. There are to be no more missions. I _must_ prioritise the uninfected and living."

"Sir," Noah says, and his voice cracks, "The missions benefit us all - if we find a cure, it means that you'll no longer be confined to the upper levels of the ship too, we have no idea how long we're going to be on this planet -"

"One month, three weeks."

He stops short. "You've been in contact with rescuers?"

Slade nods once, almost a jerk of the head. "The trade ship Sunbeam detected our wreckage. They're only a six-seater and can't evacuate us all, but they've passed on information to the nearest system. A rescue ship will be arriving in one month, and three weeks." He takes a deep breath, and adds, "I have told them to expect fifty survivors. With the resources saved from cancelling the missions, we can and will survive that long."

They've been written off, then. They've been listed amongst the dead while they're still breathing, laboured as it is. Rescue is coming, and they are not expected to be on it.

And with the infected confined to the cargo bay, they won't be. With the missions stopped, they _will_ die. And Noah, Noah has not realised just how much he had been depending on the success of the missions for his continued faith in survival until now.

"There's - no way you'll reconsider?" he whispers, "There's no way we can save ourselves?"

"I am afraid not." The fake sympathy on Slade's face could curdle milk. "Your business model has become unsustainable."

Noah closes his eyes, and rises from the chair. "I see. Thank you for - for informing me."

Slade hums a note; Noah opens his eyes and glances back. "I will be announcing this to everyone, of course. There's no need to make you take the fall from it. You are dismissed."

Offscreen, Slade presses something. Across the screen, the words 'broadcast mode' flash.

Noah closes his eyes.

He feels sick. Dizzy. It's not just from the bacteria, it's from the knowledge that they're now irreversibly condemned, that help is coming but not for them, that they will be facing death with no hope of a reprieve. He wants to scream. To cry. To beg for life.

Keeps his expression neutral, eyes closed. Folds his arms, curls in on himself.

Slade is speaking of 'for the greater good'. He says gentle words about 'compassionate palliative care'. Sedatives, painkillers. Nothing to cure, just to ease symptoms. The necessary reduction of supplies in order to supply the uninfected. Bravery, courage in the face of what they're facing.

Above it all, the necessity to do what is best for Alterra.

There's shouting. Calls of protest. Noah's eyes snap open when he hears his name: "Commander Keen will be able to answer any questions you have; I have cleared my decision with him already."

_Thanks,_ Noah thinks bitterly.

There's a pause, like Slade is about to sign off. Then, almost lightly, he adds, "And will Alastair Danby please report to the communications terminal, to discuss the consequences of your fraudulent and illegitimate acquisition of your medical qualifications? To all others, I wish you a pleasant day. This is Commander Slade, signing out."

It's a bombshell dropped with the casualness of remarking on the weather. Noah twists around to find Danby in the cargo bay, finds him sitting up white-faced in his bed, Robinson comforting him on one side, another man, taller with dark curls, shouting words Noah probably doesn't want to make out at the speakers from his other. As Noah watches, the other man kicks the side of the bed furiously, then turns back to Danby, tenderly sets his hands on his shoulders.

Noah looks away hastily.

_What would you make of this, Jochi? We're going to die the same way Bart Torgal did, my crew looks ready to riot, and our only doctor is apparently a fraud. Maybe it's a good thing your death was quick._

Danby arrives flanked by Robinson on one side and the other man on his other. All three look unwell, that's a given, but Danby is the one looking like he's either about to faint, throw up, or both. Noah steps aside, keeping a watchful eye on the trio; he can understand the visible anger on Danby's companions' faces.

"Danby," Slade says calmly. "And - sorry, you are?"

"Ozzy Echols from the cafeteria. Wants to tell you where you can stick your 'compassionate palliative care'."

"Ryley Robinson, non-essential systems maintenance. Not worth as much a 'fully-equipped Cyclops' but still would have saved your life if you were infected too."

Noah, despite himself, fights off a smile.

"Right," Slade says, like there's a cut-off switch for Robinson and Echols, a wordless, gestureless turning away. His gaze is fixed on Danby, but Danby is not looking back; he's hanging his head, one pale hand clinging to Robinson's, the other in Echols'. "Danby. You understand, of course, that it is easy enough to be overheard in a place like your current location. Still, as it will take some time to have your school records reexamined, I am choosing to let your transgressions go ignored."

Danby jerks, then raises his head slowly, disbelievingly. "...Sir?"

Slade's lips thin. "Following due process would involve the reexamining your school records, stripping you of your position, and confining you to quarters for the duration of the tour, followed by expulsion from Alterra space. It would also, frankly, require a lot of paperwork. Given that you will likely be dead within a week, it's simply not worth bothering with."

Noah can hear the rest in there, the unspoken ' _you're_ simply not worth bothering with'; he sees the way Danby slumps in the chair. He can see the way Echols' hand tightens around Danby's before he straightens up, glares straight at the screen.

"If you're not going to do anything about it, then why'd you have to fuckin' _humiliate_ him like that?"

"Because I am Chief Medical Officer. Danby is, or was, my direct subordinate. And the fact that he deliberately misled people to gain access to the medical profession disgusts me." It's genuine anger from Slade, now. "It's only by sheer luck and the skill of the rest of the department that no one died under his care. You may care for him, but the fact remains that he put lives at risk. Had our mission continued as planned, this would have been announced publicly anyway. Given the circumstances, he's getting away with it."

And the worst part is, the worst part is that Noah can understand. He can understand the anger, can understand why Danby's actions are so repellent. Had he applied as an engineer under false pretences, then perhaps he would have damaged machines. Systems. But dealing with health, with human bodies - in lying, he's jeopardised lives.

He should be angry. Instead, all he can do is gaze at the trio in front of the camera, at Danby's hands pressed to his mouth to muffle his sobbing, the thin shoulders trembling, and wonders how the hell he ended up in that position in the first place.

"Commander Slade," Noah says, stepping forward. "I believe you have made your point. I will handle it from here."

Slade frowns, but he still jerks his head once in a nod. "Fine. Signing off."

The screen clicks off. Noah exhales, closes his eyes for a moment before turning to the trio.

"Danby," he says wearily, "I can't condone your actions. You've committed criminal acts, and were we still in Alterra space, you know you would be punished."

Danby nods. He's still staring at his lap, still shaking.

"But we're not in Alterra space," he continues, "And given our current circumstances, whether or not you have the correct qualifications is irrelevant. Robinson doesn't have Cyclops qualifications. That doesn't stop him from being an effective crew member on the missions. Echols - I've heard that you've been helping people around the cargo bay, but I don't believe you're a qualified psychologist."

Echols almost smiles at that. "I dunno, man, it kind of comes along with cooking."

Noah smiles back, or almost smiles back, shakes his head. "What I am saying is that I won't be taking action against Danby. At the moment, we need to help ourselves and each other. Go and do that. That's all we can do."

There's a murmur of agreement; Robinson pauses, says something to Echols and Danby, and turns pointedly to Noah. As the other two depart, they are left alone.

"Sir," Robinson says carefully, "Can I ask you something, um, delicate?"

"Go ahead. Wait," he interrupts himself, earlier words swimming back to the forefront; "Commander Slade mentioned earlier that the CTO disobeyed a direct order, and you made that crack about the Cyclops. What did you mean by that?"

Robinson pulls a face. "Oh, yeah. Vivec said that Sla- that Commander Slade ordered them to return when the leviathan attacked. The CTO said no because I wasn't back yet, and Commander Slade said that, um, my life wasn't as much as a 'fully-equipped Cyclops'. They were all pretty mad."

He blinks. "I see." Their anger is understandable, then. Understandable, and sadistic of Slade to give them the order, to demand that they abandon a crew member, to state bald-faced that his life had less value than a machine.

_What is Alterra doing to us?_

Noah shakes his head. "What did you want to ask?"

Blinking at the sudden segue, Robinson straightens up. "You said we need to help each other, and I'm pretty sure I can do that. Except, Sla- Commander Slade banned us from leaving quarantine, right?"

"Right."

"If I could help us - help _all_ of us, but it kind of meant breaking one teeny little rule about not leaving, would, um..." He shuffles, looks awkward, fidgets. "Would that be... okay?"

Noah has spoken to Yu recently enough to know that they're tantalisingly close to a solution; knows that Robinson has been directly involved from the start. His curiosity has been piqued.

"Officially," Noah says slowly, "As former Second Officer of the Aurora and current commander of the quarantine, I can't give you _official_ permission to continue on. I definitely can't give you _official_ clearance to, say, make use of one of the Prawn suits you've been using, nor to take any supplies you need that will help you."

He looks so damn _hopeful_ , Robinson. Hanging on each 'official', a smile twitching on his lips at the official ban on supplies and Prawn suits.

And Noah wants to live. Wants to make Jochi's death mean something.

"Officially, no. You can't do anything. But unofficially, as one of the infected, I wish you luck. Act as soon as you can, we're running out of time. Don't talk about your plans publicly, we don't know who's passing on information. Work with the CTO, she's as eager to get to work as you are. And you definitely didn't hear that from me."

Robinson actually grins at that; Noah smiles back despite himself. Watches Robinson jog back to his friends, to shower Danby in love and support, the bonds that are keeping them together despite everything.

Every hope they have now rests on Ryley Robinson's shoulders.

Noah just hopes he can handle it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up three weeks late, waving feebly from beneath a pile of uni work*

This is going to be delicate.

If it was up to Jia, she would make a run for the Prawn bay. Grab a suit, leap into the water, go fast, fast so they could never catch her. But she knows that Ryley isn't that reckless (usually); that their best chance of success lies in hiding his departure for as long as possible.

So they're going to do this the quiet way.

Keen, much to her surprise, provides the first part of the answer. Ryley will need a PDA when he's down there, no doubt about it; they have the materials to make another purple tablet but not the tablet itself, and making and using a fabricator needs use of a linked PDA. But his own has automatic telemetry on it, a beacon describing exactly where he is to anyone who cares to scan for it.

Bart Torgal's PDA does not have Alterra telemetry on it. Keen has blueprints transferred over from his own PDA and smuggles it to her; she will give it to Ryley while his personal PDA stays in the cargo bay.

She communicates this to Ryley over coffee, weak and practically tepid, all her stomach can handle.

"How's your friend?" she asks, struggling for a name; "Alastair?"

Ryley's shoulders slump. "He's pretty messed up over it all. Ozzy's not leaving his side. He didn't even want coffee."

Jia exhales harshly, coughing as she does. "I don't blame him. Poor kid." She peers at him, and adds, "How about you?"

"Sick," he says, and shrugs, voice dropping. "Doesn't matter. What are we doing?"

"Working on it." In the pretence of brushing something off Ryley's shoulder, she leans in and murmurs, "Midnight, meet Vivec in the showers, he'll have your dive suit. Leave your PDA with your friends, we'll give you another. Telemetry."

He nods fractionally. "Yeah," he whispers back, then straightens up. "Thanks, I didn't see that. Is it all off?"

"All clean," she says, and grins.

 

She's busy for the rest of the day; busy in the distracted, trying-not-to-look-suspicious way. The blueprints are already loaded on to Bart Torgal's PDA, but they'll need materials; bits and pieces to craft the equipment Ryley will need to descend into the depths.

For the purple tablet, ion cubes and diamonds. He can craft it with the fabricator in the still-intact Lifepod Five; can make use of a signal jammer she's jury-rigged to keep its own telemetry from registering.

The habitat builder, she can steal that. Lubricant, computer chips and copper wiring repurposed from one of their coffee machines, those too. The little ruby chips needed for the first depth module she can get out of one of the heating systems. They still have nickel and lithium from their earlier excursions; they'll pack the Prawn's storage with it along with water, med packs, spare power cells. Titanium and raw copper, quartz and lead, though - he'll be on his own for that, scavenging from the wreckage scattered around the area.

And the kyanite, the precious kyanite they had managed to gather last time - for that, he'll be diving into the wreckage of their faithful departed Cyclops.

It's a ridiculous prospect. Ridiculous. He'll have to salvage wreckage, craft the raw materials in the lifepod fabricator. Carry them with him to the Cyclops wreckage. Build a moonpool, power it up, construct the vehicle upgrade console for the sole purpose of creating a depth module; use the modification station to upgrade it to one that will reach the depths he'll be travelling to.

Ridiculous. And that's only to get him as far as the containment facility. What he'll find there is anyone's guess; the struggle just to create one depth module is barely the tip of the iceberg.

If they had the time, they could send someone out to gather the kyanite and bring it back to the Aurora, use the modification stations in the Prawn bay. But the more they move, the greater the risk of being caught; if they want to succeed then Ryley is going to have to be self-sufficient.

He'll have to slip past those leviathans again. Jia knows that a Prawn suit could never withstand the sort of damage a Cyclops can take. It's entirely possible that all of their hopes will end with a single reverberating roar and a sickening crunch.

By evening, she's on edge; by late at night, she doesn't even have to feign fatigue. Her body is fighting her, wanting to sleep, to try to heal, and it's only sheer stubbornness keeping it going; she knows that once her part is done, she'll be able to sleep, and also that Ryley will have no such luxury.

He's been keeping rested all day. It's not unusual, now, for them to sleep the day away. The illness is sapping them of strength and vitality; no one would question someone who had been tossing and turning in a cold sweat for hours suddenly getting up around midnight to clean the filth away.

Jia steels herself, steps into the little store room they've set up, and slides away a panel to a maintenance tunnel.

In the showers, she knows Ryley and Vivec are doing the same thing. Ryley is suiting up, getting ready to dive in; Vivec has been slowly, carefully shuffling in some of their supplies over the course of the day.

Not too many. None that they can't hide under a towel, or in a pocket. Jia has supplies too; Tai has a pack to keep them in.

Had Slade not been so determined to throw their lives away, they could have done this properly. Gathered everything they needed and walked straight down to the Prawn bay instead of skulking down like naughty children. Jia gives herself the luxury of imagining herself sending Slade flying with a Prawn-boosted punch, and keeps walking.

Tai has already come and gone, brought and hidden her cache of supplies, selected the best-functioning suit, and is now sleeping soundly back up in the cargo bay. Jia adds her own gear, slips over to the suit and starts checking it over; Ryley and Vivec emerge with a clatter of a panel that sends her pulse skyrocketing.

"Watch it!" she hisses from across the bay; they both duck their heads.

Wordlessly, they get to work. Do the maintenance checks, replace a damaged panel with one liberated from another suit. Jia finds a storage module, installs it, loads it with gear; she hands the habitat builder to Ryley and he clips it to the tool belt he still hasn't actually handed back yet.

Vivec leaves first, squeezing Ryley's shoulder anxiously. They replace the panel, return to the suit. Keep working.

She's still thinking, though. Watching, thinking. If she hadn't swam off course, had ended up making her way to lifepod three instead of five, would Ryley even be here? He had never touched the water. Perhaps he would be safe with the other uninfected, watching from afar; perhaps he would have entered the water on his own but would have never, ever crossed paths with Jia, had never been in a position to volunteer.

Perhaps he would have burnt to death in the wreck of his lifepod, no concept of the bacteria, of the aliens, of everything they would go through.

"You okay?" she murmurs, and the echo of her voice leaps through the Prawn bay.

He nods, head down. "Keep an eye on Ozzy and Alastair for me," he says, and his voice is quiet. "Ozzy is trying to look after everyone, but he needs to make sure he won't burn out himself. And Alastair is so sick." There's a catch in his voice. Fear. "I just - I need to be able to do this in time. For his sake, especially."

"You'll do it," she says, and bites her lip against what will really happen, and he smiles at her in shaken gratitude.

That look again, shaken gratitude, when she gives him the PDA. "This was Bart's," he says quietly, tracing the frame; she doesn't ask him how he knows. Knows he'll treat that PDA like it's his own.

There's nothing left to do but go. Jia glances out at the hull breach they'll use; the drop is just small enough that the suit should absorb it.

It'll be loud. She's going to have to be fast.

"Good luck," she whispers, and squeezes Ryley's hand, then helps him into the suit.

The crane is an unwieldy beast of a thing, powerful limbs and a clamping jaw to hold a Prawn suit tight. Ryley gives her a thumbs up from inside the suit and she latches on, lifting the heavy suit as easily as a coffee cup.

Prawn suits are not known for their grace on land. They need to use the crane to get the suit to the hull breach in the first place. This has been Vivec's job on their previous missions; now, she's the one doing it.

It's a loud piece of machinery. A loud, power-intensive piece of machinery. Her best hope is to be able to redirect.

The clamp releases, drops the suit out the hull breach. She doesn't even wait for Ryley's confirmation before she spins the crane again, grabs another suit, positions it like she's going to set it just close enough to the edge that she'll be able to climb in and take off. Knows she's going to be caught anyway. Still closes her eyes when the doors slam open.

"Who gave you the codes to fabricate guns?" she asks the guards in their biohazard suits as she climbs down from the crane cockpit, forcing calm into her voice. "Never mind, it was Slade, I assume. Okay. It was worth a try."

Two of the guards glance at each other, wrong-footed. "Were you working with anyone, CTO?" one asks; Jia thinks she recognises him from the engineering department.

"You think I'd drag anyone else in?" she grumbles, picking up her bag of dummy supplies. "Slade told me personally that he's grounding us, so I'm the one who was personally going to break the rules. You realise he's condemning us to death, right?"

A guard shifts. "It's - for the greater good -"

"Yeah, I bet." Jia shakes her head. "Whatever. Am I being returned to the cargo bay?"

"No. Solitary confinement on the edge of the quarantine zone. We'll have someone bring food and supplies for you."

A nod that's more a jerk of the head. "Fine. Get Ozzy from the cafeteria to bring 'em, his cooking is great. If you're gonna kill me, I at least want to get some of that fruit loaf first."

 

They wait at least a day before sending Ozzy in. Jia is dizzy with hunger, has a raging headache from dehydration; her entire body aches from sleeping on the floor of the tiny side room they've stashed her in. When he finally does show up, she drains an entire bottle of water inside of a minute, sitting back with a groan and wiping her mouth.

"That water is the best thing I've seen all day."

He gives her a faint smile; Jia can't help but notice the shadows under his eyes. "It's fucked up, not giving you food or water straight away."

"Yeah. The whole thing is fucked up."

There's not much room in her little prison. Enough space to lie down, a wetroom at one end. Ozzy has to pass pretty close to put his box of supplies on the tiny shelf.

"He okay?"

"Was when I saw him off, yeah."

"Okay. And you've heard nothing yet?"

A minute shake of the head. "Wasn't expecting any. It's too risky."

He nods, some of the tension around his eyes fading. But he still looks so damn scared, so much like he's losing one of the few things he still holds close; she remembers telling Ryley she'll look after him and feels guilt in the pit of her stomach.

"Listen," she whispers, and he turns his head to listen, "He can do this. He's resourceful and determined and really, really damn brave."

Ozzy laughs shakily. "He's a dumbass. He tests repair tools by zapping himself with them."

A faint grin, because yes, she's seen that herself. "Okay, yeah, he's a resourceful, determined, brave dumbass. He can do this. He'll save you, and me, and Alastair, and everyone else."

Because, she knows, if he can't, nothing will.


	21. Chapter 21

Ryley lies there curled up on his side, the strap of the oxygen tank digging into his ribs, gazing blankly at the frozen artefacts in front of him and trying to remember how to breathe.

It's quiet in here. There's a soft mechanical hum, the skitter of the occasional maintenance bot, the buzz of the force field. There is nothing else. He can't hear the bubbling lava just outside, or the roaring of the huge leviathan, or the shrieks of other creatures who would love to sample his flesh. Just the hum, the skitter, the buzz. His own wheezing. His own heartbeat, drumming in his ears.

He's so damn tired.

How long has it been? It had been around two in the morning by the time he had left the cargo bay. He had made a straight shot for the lifepod he had woken up in to make the purple tablet, stashed it in the Prawn's storage unit, and had gone hunting for the materials he'd need.

It had taken hours. The sun was starting to sink again by the time he had enough scrap to start making a moonpool. Ryley had hidden the Prawn in a natural dip in the landscape, swum back up to the lifepod, and curled up on the floor for the next few hours.

Then, it had been night. He was still tired, still hurting, still wheezing. Couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it. Had to keep going, gathering more and more raw materials, converting them into formats the habitat builder could use.

Twenty-four hours, running on three hours of sleep. He had kept going.

He couldn't fit all the material into a Prawn's storage unit. Instead, he had rigged up a kind of thick net from the abundant kelp, apologising to a startled hoverfish as he cut away its hiding space, tossed some of the scrap he hadn't needed to the local stalkers. Had converted it to fibre mesh and turned the whole thing into a swag to drag along the titanium ingots.

The beacon for the destroyed Cyclops and its bounty of kyanite put it firmly in the area they had dubbed the Mountains. They had spotted at least one of the red and white leviathans around the area in the scans. Ryley was finding this tremendously unfair.

Still. Still. He had managed to get the Prawn suit there without being eaten. He had managed to build the moonpool, install solar panels to squeeze power out of it once the sun rose again, had built the upgrade console and modification station.

No lifepod to curl up in to get some precious hours of sleep. There was still two hours until dawn, two hours until the power would kick in and he could start making the units he needed. He had curled up in a corner of the moonpool and tried not to think about leviathans launching up through the water.

(He thinks, curled up on the floor of the Primary Containment Facility, that he had been doing a lot of snatching hours or minutes of sleep on floors in the last day or two.)

Once the sun had risen, he had got back to work. Letting the Prawn charge as much as it could, he had dived into the wreck of the Cyclops, collecting the kyanite he had found before, finding another bottle of water and some med kits and collecting those too. Had paused at the engine bay, tracing the patterns of damage.

He had to keep moving.

It had been midday when he finally had the last upgrade installed. Midday when he had climbed into the newly-charged Prawn suit and started for the fissure in the rocks between the Mountains and the Bulb Zone that led down and down. Had slipped through with distant leviathan roars for company; had sacrificed speed for stealth to inch past Delilah.

He wasn't in a Cyclops now. He was in a Prawn suit. Tough, yes. Invulnerable, not at all.

The lava zone was as unpleasantly hot as he had remembered; Ryley had sat in his Prawn suit and sweated through the reinforced dive suit. Urged the Prawn onwards to the immense mountain in the middle of the zone, to the entrance of the caves, to the base.

It was cooler in there. Ryley had stripped off the dive suit and sacrificed one of his bottles of water to wash the sweat from his body. In the scheme of things, one bottle wouldn't matter. If he was going to die, it probably won't be from dehydration.

He had slid the purple tablet into its slot and collected the blue one, and She had called out to him again.

He was so close. She was so lonely.

(Ryley, now staring at the ceiling, thinks this: what if it's not the Sea Emperor at all? What if it's one of the things that nearly killed Alastair? What if it's luring me to my death?)

(And then, he thinks this: if it's not the Sea Emperor, then we're all going to die anyway.)

Evening, then. Evening by the time he managed to leave the power plant and the mountain, by the time he managed to evade the Sea Dragons in the lava zone (two! There were two!). It took him an unacceptably embarrassingly long time and a near encounter with one of those warping assassins to find the lower entrance; when he had spotted the _third_ Sea Dragon, he had nearly given up.

But the Primary Containment Facility was right there.

So he had pushed through. Moved quietly, carefully, even when every instinct was telling him to _run, hurry, don't stop_. Had skirted the edge of the lava lake and the Sea Dragon, had made it into the building. Climbed out of the Prawn suit, set the blue tablet in place. Climbed the steep slope. Had seen the _other_ force field with the blue icon on it.

Ryley didn't really remember hitting the floor. He was running on five hours of sleep over the past forty-odd hours. The collapse had been inevitable.

She was there, and he couldn't reach Her.

She's here now, in his head, whispering to him. Ryley is too worn down to reply to her, at first. Too tired to even think straight. Too tired to _move, get up, keep going_.

It's coming up on two days, now. Alastair could be dying, even as Ryley lies on the floor.

He pushes himself up.

"What do I have to do?"

He knows about the plants, now; knows how to find everything he needs, or almost everything he needs, to get a cure. She's so old now. She can no longer produce the enzyme they will need - not in large enough quantities, not in good enough quality. She is doing all she can to spread the little she _can_ produce through the oceans, and the image of peepers trailing gold slides in side by side with his own memory of spotting the same.

He takes ion cubes. Places them in the cradles to power up one of the gates and finds himself hurled upwards over a kilometre in the span of seconds. In just his dive suit and oxygen tank, survival knife in hand, Ryley steps back into the water and shakes a handful of eye-like seeds from one of the strange glowing plants into a bag.

Eventually, he's going to run out of things to do. Eventually, he'll have collected the plants he can reach, pile them up neatly in front of the other force field generator. He can feel the Sea Emperor in his mind, can gather the plants, knows _exactly_ what to do, and - 

And without a second blue tablet, his path will stop before an impassable force field and go no further.

Doesn't stop to think. Doesn't stop to worry about it. He just keeps going through the gates, keeps gathering plants, keeps his feet moving.

And he's so damn tired.

Ryley leans back against the wall, his eyes closed, trying to sleep in fast-forward to get the restoration he needs in as little time as possible. Tries to think of the problem like a maintenance issue. He has one key but two locks, has a Prawn suit close at hand, has a moonpool a kilometre or so up. He has most of the plants. He does not have the luxury of time, or of being able to return to the Aurora to make use of its facilities, too.

"What if," he says out loud, "I go the long way around?"

He has two locks, but just one key. Somehow, he needs to create another key - or, he needs to bypass one of the locks. And he's already tried prying the tablet up and dashing back inside before the force field returns to its full strength (the first time he had tried it, he had bounced off the force field bodily, nearly flinging himself back into the lava lakes).

The gates, though. He has the gates open now, puncturing the facility and bringing it into the rest of the world.

He could take the tablet. Return back up through the lava lakes, through the zone above, past the three Sea Dragons. Back through the river, back past Delilah. Find one of the warp gates he had used, return to the facility that way.

Easy. Only over a kilometre of vertical travel, at least four leviathans, and countless warping assassins in his path. No problem.

It would have to be no problem, or else he and everyone he cared about would die.

He doesn't want to leave. Intellectually, he knows that this place has been a prison for the Sea Emperor for an unimaginably long time, but - but he also knows that leaving means facing the lakes again, facing the river again. The leviathans again. He had got lucky coming in, had been lucky and been careful, but he also knows that his luck could run out in a second.

If he dies out there, Ozzy and Alastair will never know what happened to him.

(But then, but then. If he doesn't leave, stays paralysed on the floor of the containment facility from indecision and fear, then he and Ozzy and Alastair will die anyway.)

"I'm scared," he says out loud, and the enormity of the Sea Emperor's love and care fill him like oxygen. "But I don't have any choice, do I? Not if I want us all to survive. And - Alastair said earlier, he said we could die anyway, even if I do bring back a cure in time."

Ryley closes his eyes.

"What if I get back to the Aurora and everyone is already dead? I mean - not the uninfected, obviously. But they already hate me. Even if I'm cured, they might kill me just to make sure I'm not a carrier or something." He laughs, shakes his head. "If everyone else is dead, I might let 'em."

Her concern washes over him; guiltily, he straightens up.

"No. Sorry. I don't know. I don't want to stay with Alterra. Stars. How could I, after being here?"

How could anyone ever be the same, after being in this world, after what they've been through? He knows now that there's no going back to his old life. When the Aurora had been shot down, when he had been infected, non-essential systems maintenance worker Ryley Robinson had died.

"Anyway," he says, and pushes himself to his feet, "I better get going. See you soon, hopefully."

He may be walking to his death. If he stays here, he'll definitely be heading towards it. Head down, not looking up, he returns to his Prawn suit and descends the slope, pulls the blue tablet free, watches the force field snap back into place.

Through the barrier, he can see the Sea Dragon's tail flick. It's turned a corner; looking away. Ryley gulps in a steadying breath (then coughs, wincing and doubled over, hand pressed to his mouth, wipes the blood and green mucus off his glove), pulls his oxygen tank back on, and scrambles aboard.

"Okay," he says to no one in particular, and plunges out into the lakes again.

The first Dragon doesn't spot him. Ryley moves as quickly as he can without being too noisy, hits the jump jets to get to the upper level, and finds himself face to face with one of the warping assassins. The sensation of being yanked out of the Prawn is one that leaves him retching and shivering, the frenetic kicking upwards to avoid the blades aimed at his face leaves him aching. The warper disappears again, and for a moment Ryley treads water in some disbelief before the suit alarms warn him that he best get out of the scaldingly hot water before it burns through the external layer.

He doesn't have any more encounters, warper or Dragon, on the way back out. Delilah spots him from a distance, lets out an echoing shriek; he drags the Prawn through a gap and narrowly avoids becoming Ghost food. A part gets caught against the rock, tears off with a scrape of metal. He's damaging the suit even further, pushing it to its most extreme limits.

It's okay. His task won't take too much longer.

He works on autopilot. Manuevers out of the river, starts into the forest of enormous mushroom corals. There had been an entrance in the river itself too, he remembers, but he doesn't know the river as well as he knows the mushroom forest.

And the mushroom forest is closer to the Aurora. Closer to being able to bring a cure home.

When he finally drags the suit through the arch and back into the facility, ignoring his ears popping at the abrupt and unpleasant change in pressure, he's bathed in sweat and anxiety. Numbly, he stumbles back into the hall and almost drops the tablet before he can set it in place, and the thought of it cracking when he's _right here_ , right where he needs to be, would almost make him laugh if he didn't feel like crying instead.

Scoops up the plant samples from earlier. Watches the force field fade away. Checks his oxygen then dives in, dives down into the pool (and it is a pool, and a pool could never compare to an entire _ocean_ ) to meet her.

Her presence is like oxygen, like sunshine. He treads water before her and smiles exhaustedly, lays the plants down and dives into the lower part of the tank to get the last ingredient. Gets the ion cubes needed, activates the incubator and the arch.

It's almost over. He's almost done.

He feels sick and exhausted and wants to lie down and cry or die, knows that if he does stop moving, he quite possibly will. So he does not stop. Carefully supervises the hatching of the eggs, resting encouraging hands on the shells, pulling away fragments to help the babies out of their millennium-long enclosures.

He's laughing despite himself, laughing and giddy with it, helping the babies come to life. They twine around his arms, nuzzle against his mask, reach for him like they know that their parent won't be around for much longer, and Ryley takes them to meet the Sea Emperor and knows that he will never, ever be able to leave.

They burp up bubbles of enzyme. Ryley pulls off his gloves and rubs the sticky stuff into his skin, can't feel it working straight away but knows that he'll either die or survive.

There's enough there for him to collect, siphoning the precious stuff into a collection flask. Enough to save two dozen lives, if they can be saved at all. Enough for Alastair, for Ozzy, for Jia and Vivec and Tai and everyone he's met, everyone he's been through this with.

If they are to survive, he will have to move quickly. When he says goodbye to the babies, he knows it is only temporary; when he says goodbye to the Emperor, he knows it is the last thing she will ever do.

The enormity of what he's done will occur to him later. For now, he just says _good bye_ , and _good luck_ , and _thank you, thank you, thank you_.

She'll die, now. But she'll die with her children alive and awake and free, die with the knowledge that she's saved her planet and the lives of a few fragile creatures she'll never see. And if Ryley dies now too, he'll do so with the knowledge that no matter what, the planet will heal.

If nothing else, the planet will heal.

The babies swim for freedom. Ryley returns to the hall, to the suit, to the surface.

The Aurora is close. His friends are waiting.

Clutching the flask of enzyme like it's the lifeline it literally is, Ryley starts the journey back, and prays to anyone who could possibly listen that it's not too late.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A teeny-tiny and distressingly late chapter. It was meant to be longer but I got so stuck on it that. The words. They just wouldn't go. Consider this an abridged version, and fingers crossed the next chapter will come out some time within the same month. Thank you so much for your patience!

Ozzy can't sleep.

Ryley's gone. So is the CTO. He's seen others slip in and slip out, Vivec and Tai; no one has burst in angrily to confront them. Either the CTO has gone with Ryley, or something has happened to her; if something has happened to her, then something might have happened to Ryley.

Alastair is trying fitfully to sleep. His breathing is shallow and raspy, and Ozzy can feel the heat of the fever radiating from him; even with his own fever, he can feel Alastair burning up.

He's been scanning himself obsessively. Recording the results. Checking his levels, watching his organs failing before his eyes.

Even with a cure, he could still die from organ failure. Or, he could die from the fever, or drown from the fluids building in his lungs.

A planet full of ocean, and Alastair could drown on dry land.

Ozzy rolls over, gazes out into space.

He had already said his goodbyes. Had already told Ryley _I'll see you again_ , and _come back safely_ , and had not quite said _we'll probably never see each other again_.

Because he has faith in Ryley, but a deep and abiding cynicism that's grown towards everything else. Towards the planet, towards the bacteria. Towards Alterra and whatever they might do to try to stop them.

He can't understand why Alterra wants them dead. Hadn't they done their jobs? Hadn't they behaved? Stars, why wouldn't Slade at least let them _try_?

Did their lives mean that little?

 

The morning drags. The afternoon is an infinity. The next night is so, so long, and Ryley's absence burns against his skin.

They're getting sicker.

It's early in the next morning when Ozzy's PDA rouses him, tells him to collect two day's rations and to wait at the interior door. It leads to a corridor, he's pretty sure; when the door opens he finds each end blocked off by biohazard barriers.

All doors but one.

He bites his lip, then enters the door code he's been sent, and the CTO looks up and gives him the most profoundly grateful look he's ever seen.

Immediately, he hands her a bottle of water, and she gulps it back desperately. She had left quarantine over a day ago. Had they been keeping water from her all that time, save only for the tiny amounts she could get from the wetroom?

"That water is the best thing I've seen all day," she finally says with a groan.

"It's fucked up." He shakes his head, trying to give her a faint smile. "Not giving you food or water straight away."

"Yeah. The whole thing is fucked up."

Ozzy hesitates, then steps closer to set the supplies on one of the shelves. His mouth is very close to her ear when he murmurs, "He okay?"

_I just need to know he's okay._

"Was when I saw him off, yeah."

"Okay. And you've heard nothing yet?"

A minute shake of the head. "Wasn't expecting any. It's too risky."

Ozzy nods, and he feels some of the tension drain from his spine. Then it's gone according to plan; Ryley is, at this moment, working to save them all.

The CTO whispers, "Listen," and he turns to her. "He can do this. He's resourceful and determined and really, really damn brave."

Ozzy laughs shakily. "He's a dumbass. He tests repair tools by zapping himself with them."

"Okay, yeah, he's a resourceful, determined, brave dumbass," she corrects herself with a grin. "He can do this. He'll save you, and me, and Alastair, and everyone else."

"Even if he gets back safely with a cure, though..." He hasn't said it out loud since Alastair raised it, has barely tried to think it. "We could still die. We're sick. Alastair's tracking his levels and he's going into organ failure." Ozzy's voice cracks. "So are some others. He said that he can fabricate new organ structures in the main med bay. It'd give him enough time until we get back to Alterra space. But the main med bay is..."

"Right up the top, yeah." She nods, worrying at her lip. "Yeah. Once - once we're better, they might let us up there."

He smiles without feeling behind it. "Yeah. They might."

 

Ozzy doesn't know the guy who's slipped into a coma. Recognises, doesn't know. His organs are shutting down, one by one; Alastair is following close behind.

He waits.

Steps out of the cargo bay without authority, without care for consequence, and taps in the door code to the CTO's room. Invites her back in with the others. What are they going to do? Storm in, slaughter them all? They're already dying.

He waits.

Manages a few sips of water, brings it up within a minute. He's dehydrated, he's burning up. Alastair isn't strong enough to hold a scanner any more, so Ozzy scans himself and recognises what the numbers that come up on the display mean.

He waits.

The door to the showers open, and Ryley steps through like he's just been washing his hair. But there's a flask in his hands that's shimmering gold; he anoints them with it, gives a few precious, reassuring words to his friends, longer instructions to Keen and Yu.

He waits.

Ryley steps into Ozzy's circle. Rubs the enzyme into his hands, into Alastair's. They're the last of them, the only ones yet to receive the cure; Ozzy cleanses himself of the bacteria then reaches out to let Ryley collapse into his arms.

He closes his eyes, and goes to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am free!! Free from my semester!! We are BACK!

"Slade. This is Keen. We have a cure and we're recovering, but we're not going to make it without more intensive care. I know you grounded everyone, but it's done, and now we need help. Get back to me ASAP. Keen, out."

 

"Slade, this is Keen. We - we've lost someone. Someone who was cured, whose bacterial count was decreasing, but who was too far gone to survive without organ replacement. I know we have that tech in the upper med bays. _We need that tech_. Keen, out."

 

"It's Keen. Looking at the state of everyone in here, we're facing another dozen deaths without organ replacement therapy. The rest of us will likely survive. I don't think the -"

A pause for deep, wracking coughs, sounding like they're turning his lungs inside out -

"I don't think we will be very happy once the infection passes. Slade, we _need_ access to the medical bay. Keen, out."

 

"Slade. Some of us are talking about going for the medical bays, no matter what the consequences. I know you've got armed guards. You _know_ how Alterra will respond to a show of violence. I'm trying to keep the peace, but if they decide the risk is worth it, I won't be able to stop them. Consider it. Keen, out."

 

"Slade. We've lost another one. What will it take to make you see reason? _We are dying_."

A heavy, pained pause.

"Please. _Please_. Are you a doctor or aren't you? Are you just going to let us die, or are you going to fulfil your Hippocratic oath?"

 

"Keen. This is Commander Slade. Mobilise your most sick and get them ready to move. We've expanded the quarantine zone up to the lower medical bay and installed a tissue fabricator. Do _not_ breach the expanded quarantine, but you have access to tissue replacement therapy."

A sigh, barely audible.

"It is my hope that it will be enough. Slade, out."

 

It's quiet, now.

The lower med bay has been abuzz with activity since the news first came through. Slade had said to bring the most ill, but they had needed the help to get them there, barely-recovered people helping the worst-off, hoping, hoping that it would not be too late.

Twenty-three of them are squeezed into the med bay. The two who had already succumbed were lying in the cold storage, along with the one who had overdosed earlier.

(Weeks, or days? How long had they been fighting? He can't remember.)

The CTO gives Noah an exhausted smile. She's perched on the edge of one of the beds with her pilot; another crew member, pink-haired Baird, is lying in said bed recovering from liver failure. Still jaundiced, still critically unwell, but healing.

On the bed on one side are his own two crew members from the island expedition. Ani Serrento has her fingers linked with the pilot, Ekain Lekubarri is reading through his PDA even through the bulky oxygen mask.

And on the other side, the last member of Yu's crew, the reason they're alive now. Ryley Robinson looks exhausted, beaten and bruised. He had collapsed shortly after his return, had not yet woken up. He had been one of the first transferred to the med bay.

But his signs are good, Danby claims, his main afflictions being exhaustion and dehydration. Danby, who had been so critically ill himself, conscious and functioning even while still wired up and attached to equipment. In lieu of a qualified doctor, he is the closest they have; he seems to have clawed back to consciousness entirely to ensure his loved ones are cared for.

He's asleep now, though. Curled around Robinson like he's a teddy bear, tangled with him and Echols.

Noah turns away, fighting against the fraction of a smile.

_Look, Jochi. We didn't all make it, but the fact that I am alive today is a miracle._

_No, it's disobedience. Disobedience is what saved us._

_What do I do now?_

In one month, two weeks, and two days, their rescue will arrive. By then, it's entirely likely they'll be healthy, well enough to leave quarantine, to bring them back to Federation space and to Alterra. He knows there will be consequences. He knows his harsh words to Slade will be on the record. Yu's insubordination. Robinson's last-ditch mission. Danby's medical fraud.

Even if he's forgiven, what will his future with Alterra be?

_What do I do now?_

His PDA pings; it's Slade. Hastily, Noah steps out of the med bay and into the quiet of the corridor, leaning against the wall as he opens the comms. "Commander Slade."

"Keen." Voice only, no video. "What is the status of your group?"

"Recovering," he says, and Noah can't quite hide the sheer relief he finds in the word. "Many are still critically ill, but the tissue replacements will help long enough to get to Federation space for organ replacements." He hesitates, then pushes the words out: "Thank you."

Slade makes a noise like a little cough. "You realise that without this mysterious cure, I would not have done this, yes? As it is, I've had to reassure my group repeatedly that I won't break quarantine until we can ensure every last bit of the bacteria is eliminated."

 _Mysterious cure_. He has not, in fact, revealed the source of it, won't unless it becomes a matter of strict necessity. Noah hides a smile.

"Understood. My source tells me that the cure will be working directly on the water, however. We've already started recording lower bacterial counts in some regions."

"Mm. Moot point, of course." There's dead air for a long moment. "Indeed, I want to talk to you about our next actions. You recall that the rescue ship will be arriving in a month and a half?"

"I do."

"They have sent specs to me. There is actually enough room for everyone. At least enough to get us back to a neutral station in Federation space. From there on, we will be under Alterra regulations." Another pause, and then Slade says forcefully, "I will have no choice other than to report all that has taken place since we've arrived on this planet. You realise that, don't you?"

Noah exhales, letting the wall take his weight. "I do. What will be the consequences?"

"Once our PDAs sync back to the Alterra network, all our communications will be known. It is likely you will be stripped of rank. Theoretically, you should be able to work at it to get to your former position." Slade hesitates, then adds, "The greater issue is Danby. He has committed a criminal offence. He will _not_ be permitted to return to Alterra space."

"I doubt his friends will abandon him, then."

Would Robinson return to Alterra space, with all he has seen and done? Would Echols? For that matter, would Yu and Baird and Medlin-Adams?

Would he?

"Mm. It may be a better option," Slade says delicately, "For others to seriously consider whether returning to Alterra space is the best option for them. It has come to my attention that there is some, ah, discontent with the way things have proceeded here."

 _Discontent_. Noah almost snorts. "I recognise it, yes. For those who do stay, what consequences will they face?"

"Those who have done nothing? They can return to their lives. Alterra doesn't care about ill feelings, just ill actions."

Noah doesn't answer immediately, because the words _Alterra doesn't care_ are ringing in his head. _Discontent_. Jochi had never been impressed by Alterran protocol; Noah has seen the pain it has caused first hand.

_Alterra doesn't care._

"I see," he says and, before he can talk himself out of it, adds, "I wish to inform you that I will be tendering my resignation once we return to Federation space."

There's a sound almost like a laugh from Slade. "Somehow, that does not surprise me. What do you intend to do?"

Noah is smiling, leaning back against the wall, his breath coming out in a shaky exhalation. He's actually _done_ it. "Go to Mongolian space, first and foremost. I wish to report back on the fates of the Degasi and -" he forces the beloved syllables out, wants to hold them safe - "Jochi Khasar personally. I was in charge of the auxiliary mission, and I intend to follow that through."

"And after that?"

"I have no idea," Noah says, and closes his eyes, and laughs.


	24. Chapter 24

The ability to breathe easily again is the best thing Alastair has ever felt.

He had been so close to death. So close he had felt the lassitude, the apathy slip over him; the urge to sleep and never wake up. He had been okay with it, just for a little while.

But now he's breathing again. And he's going to fight to keep doing so.

There's a hand on his stomach - Ozzy's, arm slung across Ryley's middle to reach Alastair. Ryley has his face buried against the side of Alastair's neck, and he's breathing easily again too. He doesn't know what Ryley has gone through to bring them back to this point, isn't quite aware of where they are other than _not the cargo bay_ , isn't sure how much time has passed.

But he can breathe in without pain. He can inhale, exhale. He's still sore, still feels unwell, feels so incredibly weak; knows that whatever he's survived, he'll have an uphill battle to recover from it.

They're alive. They're _alive_.

He goes back to sleep, and this time, it's easy.

 

They're in one of the medical bays, and that in itself tells Alastair that they're going to live.

Slade wouldn't have let them leave quarantine if they had no chance. They would have rotted in there, breathed their last pained breath. The cargo bay would have been sterilised; cleansed of bacteria, cleansed of bodies.

But they're in a medical bay (the lower one, if he recalls correctly). They've been released from quarantine, and they're breathing again, and they're going to live.

The bed is less crowded, now; Ryley is still warm against him, Ozzy sits by their bedside going through his PDA, and the smile when he spots Alastair lift his head is glorious. "Welcome back," he mouths, blows a gentle kiss so not to disturb Ryley.

Carefully, delicately, Alastair returns the gesture, then presses gentle fingers against the pulse point in Ryley's throat. It beats on reassuringly, slow in his sleep; carefully, delicately, Alastair extracts himself and reaches for his PDA and a medical scanner, mindful of everything he's wired up to.

Just exhausted. Just dehydrated. Ryley sleeps now, but he'll recover.

Alastair is a fraud and a fake. But right now, he's the closest thing they have to a doctor. Gathering up his equipment (both the PDA and scanner, and the equipment he's wired up into), he swings his legs out of bed, stares at them blankly, quietly stunned at how pale they are, at the swelling he can see around his ankles and feet.

His own scans show dangerously high levels of creatinine. Kidney failure, he thinks vaguely; glances at the wires attached to his abdomen. Kidney failure, which he is now being treated for. There's a spare blanket at the foot of the bed, and now, he wraps it around his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Ozzy says softly, gazing at him in concern.

Alastair straightens up. He's wearing the blanket like a cloak, holds the scanner and PDA like shields. "My job," he says simply, and begins his rounds.

 

A few months ago, this level of sickness would be cause for distinct alarm.

Right now, it's cause for celebration.

Yes, they're sick. So many of them have organ failure, so many still need oxygen. They're _all_ weak, _all_ exhausted. But it's so much better than actively dying from an alien disease, and with every day, every hour, they are improving.

He knows now that two amongst their numbers had died before they had ever got to the medical bay. Feels that guilty sting of relief that it wasn't him, because it could have so easily been.

He's still alive, though. They all are. Even Ryley has woken up, blearily opened his eyes, smiled, curled back against Ozzy and fallen back asleep.

When they're all awake and functioning, Officer - no, _Commander_ Keen gathers them for a briefing. There will be a ship arriving for them in a month and change, he tells them. They will be transported to the nearest Federation station, a neutral port that had been their last stop before they had pressed on to the planet. And then, they will go home.

Alastair remains quiet at this. He keeps his hands folded in his lap, stares at them.

When he had been dying, expulsion from Alterra space had been simply academic. Now, it's the reality he's facing. He knows there will be no going home for him, not any more, and while no one in the medical bay has prevented him from doing his job, he knows that everyone must be thinking it.

Indeed, Keen approaches him directly once the briefing is over, and the expression on his face is one of concern. "Danby," he murmurs, keeping his voice to an undertone, "Do we have a moment to talk about your future?"

Alastair bites his lip, and nods.

"Should we go?" Ryley asks gently; Alastair shakes his head fiercely. They stay, flanking him on either side, protecting him even now.

Keen doesn't speak immediately; he seems to be mulling over his words. "You know," he finally starts, "What the consequences of your actions will be. Once we arrive at the station, you will not be permitted to return to Alterra space."

He nods again, numbly. Almost automatically, he glances to either side to Ryley and Ozzy, and swallows past the lump in his throat. "Yes, sir."

Keen exhales. "If it's any consolation, you won't be alone. I am resigning from Alterra."

And that _does_ get a reaction. Alastair jerks, stares at the commander, fairly sure his eyes are comically wide. Beside him, Ozzy breathes out a, "Holy shit"; Ryley simply shakes his head in wonder.

The smile he gets back is strained. "Given my own actions, you're not the only one facing discipline when we return. And if nothing else, this place has made me think that perhaps Alterra is not actually the best fit for us all. I am going to go to the Mongolian states to report on what we discovered here, and I would like you to consider coming with me. MIS has superb training programs, especially for those making a late change of path..."

"I'll go with you."

It's Ozzy who has spoken. Alastair starts, turns to him. "What?"

The smile he gets back is tired. "I'll go with you," Ozzy repeats, and squeezes Alastair's hand. "I like cooking, but I've had enough of fuckin' Alterra. I'd rather stay with you."

"I - you -"

Keen chuckles. "I'll leave you three to talk about it. Danby, I will forward you information on MIS, if you wish to look over it." He turns and leaves; Alastair still hasn't stopped staring at Ozzy.

Ryley moves into his field of vision and gestures to their bed. "Let's talk," he murmurs, leads them over. "It's not a bad idea, you know. Starting over. Mongolian culture is pretty different to Alterra's, from what I've read."

"You - oh, yeah, Bart Torgal's PDA," Ozzy nods. "You think it'll be a good fit for us?"

"Yeah." Ryley smiles cautiously. "I think it'll fit you well."

The dazed smile drops from Alastair's face. _You_ , he had said. _You_ , not _us_. "You're returning to Alterra?" he says, and he can barely hear his own voice.

"Oh, stars no." Ryley breathes in deeply, then pushes out the words, "I'm staying here. On the planet."

He explains. Reassures them, through their shock, that he hasn't made the decision lightly. Tells them about the Sea Emperor and her children, how he had helped bring them into life and, in the process, had found himself with the fierce protectiveness usually reserved for biological children. About how, even before that, he had found himself falling in love with the planet.

He doesn't know for sure, but he's fairly sure he won't be alone, either. Knows he's not the only one finding wonder in the new world.

It's six of them, in the end. Ryley has appointed himself caretaker of alien children, but others, the others who have seen the planet first hand, want to stay and learn. The CTO wants to establish a research base, learn all she can about the wondrous alien technology that exists dotted throughout the planet. Vivec and Tai, Ryley's fellow crew mates, have also opted to stay for the short term; one of the cartographers has decided to help with mapping out the new world as well. A botanist, one who had visited the island with Keen, he's staying too, has a life time of exploration.

Six of them, all alone on the planet.

He'll never see Ryley again.

 

It's bittersweet, the remaining time they have.

They're alive. They have their futures planned out. But Ryley is staying on a world that has tried to actively kill them, alone but for five others; Alastair faces an uncertain future even if he changes trans-govs entirely. So many of them have died. So many of them never made it to the other side of sickness.

The transport arrives. Using their own medical equipment, they declare the survivors free of any bacteria, and the quarantine is dissolved. Alastair sees people he hasn't seen in months, keeps his head down, does not answer what he will be doing in the future because he knows word will spread soon enough.

Seven, eight, nine. Three others from the uninfected part of the ship join Ryley on the planet, those who have only seen it from afar but have wondered and marvelled at the discoveries to be made. Most will return to Alterra. Many others, a surprising many, will start anew elsewhere, seeing who they can become outside of its influence.

When the bombshell comes, it's with the casualness of someone remarking on the weather.

"When do you want us to pick up the other two?"

"...The other two?"

 

Bart Torgal and Marguerit Maida are alive.

For ten years, they've survived the disease, survived the snow and ice of the polar region they had found themselves in, survived everything trying to kill them. They have a tame kind of beast that looks like it could tear them into shreds like paper. Torgal has nicknamed it 'Mister Cuddles'.

Marguerit Maida is terrifying. Scarred, tattooed, an actual sword on her back made of the mandible of something Alastair doesn't even want to imagine. Still, she scratches Mister Cuddles at the back of the skull until it purrs (purrs!), watches over Torgal like a son.

Ryley doesn't stop staring at Torgal. Bart Torgal, who he had thought died at nineteen, too young to accept it, never able to learn more about the planet.

Bart Torgal, alive and well. Nearing thirty, hardened by ten years on the planet (and, it must be said, ten years with Marguerit Maida), but still bearing traces of the gentle boy on the PDA.

Torgal turns to Ryley; Ryley straightens up like he's been shocked. "You were the one who saved Her, weren't you?" he says quietly, and even Alastair can hear the capital letter in it.

Hesitating, Ryley shakes his head. "No, I - she passed on," he says and his voice is solemn. "She showed me how to hatch her eggs. That's why I'm staying - for the babies."

Torgal - Bart - smiles warmly. "Yeah. But you still saved her. You let her go in peace. That's saving her, in my mind."

Ryley only nods once. His cheeks are pink; Alastair hastily hides a grin.

They are to have two extra passengers, then. Bart is going to travel with Keen to the Mongolian states, put affairs in order. Maida won't leave his side. Alastair suspects it's going to be an interesting journey.

And then, then... they'll return. They'll come back to the planet and stay, because Ryley isn't the only one who has fallen in love with it. In two years, they'll return, pick up any of the initial nine who want to leave, drop off equipment and supplies for those who want to stay.

"I'll see you again," Ryley promises, and he clings to Alastair and Ozzy like he's not quite believing his own worlds. "I will. Stay safe. Stay happy."

He turns, walks off the ship. Returns to the boat laden with the supplies they've been given, trading in their Alterra shares for a fresh start. Watches, watches as the ship prepares to leave the system.

Strapped into their launch seats, Alastair reaches for Ozzy's hand; Ozzy squeezes back. The roar and shudder of the ship is in their ears and bones, the gravitational forces pressing them back in their harnesses.

The planet falls away, and they fly.


	25. Epilogue

Ryley emerges into the sunlight with a gasp and a shake of his head to flick away the drops of sea water.

He's getting better at freediving. Starting with a tank, just in case; learning the best ways to hold his breath and swim at the same time. Now, with the oceans cleansed of bacteria and sparkling blue under the sun, it's his preferred method.

Besides, the little Emperors love the sun. It's not unusual for him to float on the surface of the water, an ocean below and a sky above, a basking baby leviathan within arm's reach. They can talk, now; he's taught them to.

Pulling himself onto the pontoon, he drags off his fins and scales the ladder to the base. It's one of three in the crater, perched here in the shallows, and his favourite for accessibility. Both island bases are further out, and the Arctic base only reachable by shuttle. The Arctic has been Jia's domain, more or less; there are alien bases all over the place there.

Now, though, she's at the Mountain Island base, where the landing pad and the dock is. Now, they're all there, eight of the nine humans on the planet gathered together.

Ryley hums to himself and steps into the wetroom to shower.

He's clumsy with anticipation as he dries off, spikes his hair up, picks through his admittedly sparse wardrobe with care. It's been ten months, seventeen days since he watched the rescue ship blast away through the skies, and today, today the first shuttle is due back.

Today, Bart is coming back.

It's been a rich and full year. His work here on the planet, yes, that has taken up his time. Learning about it, learning its idiosyncrasies; learning the flora and fauna and learning about and from its inhabitants. But he has also been writing, keeping Bart posted on the day-to-day life in the crater and with the baby leviathans, receiving his letters with joy so thinly-veiled he's sure the others know he's definitely feeling less than professional about their correspondence.

(Well, alright. Vivec tends to tease him outright about his 'completely blindingly obvious crush', and Ryley can't really bring himself to disagree.)

Before, Bart had been a symbol for him. He had been another survivor, even if only temporarily; the words he had written had been Ryley's comfort and inspiration.

But the boy in the PDA is eternally nineteen, static, never growing, never changing. The Bart he has been writing to for nearly a year is a man who has survived more than a decade longer than he had expected, and he has been changed by the experience. He's stronger, less sentimental; he's had to fight for his survival. He has spent ten years with Marguerit Maida, she as much a part of his past as the years he spent raised by his father.

Still, though. He's still Bart. He still loves the planet, finds wonder in curiosity. He talks affectionately of Mister Cuddles, the snow stalker; he eagerly writes about his excitement over Ryley's discoveries.

He's still _Bart_. Ryley thinks his crush could very easily turn into something more.

Finally clean and dressed, Ryley slides down the ladder to the moonpool where his Seamoth waits. It's not far to the Mountain base, and he hits the autopilot and sits back to watch the ocean slip by, mind full of the words he's going to say to Bart when he sees him again.

After all these letters, what is he even meant to say?

The Seamoth docks; Ryley steps out and into the Mountain base. It's been his home for the past year, more or less, and he makes his way to the common room unthinkingly, waves to Ani and Hassan as he pulls up a seat.

"All packed, then?" he asks them, resting one arm against the back of the seat.

Their numbers are going to change, today. The shuttle isn't just bringing Bart back, it's also bringing researchers, engineers, others who want to make this world their home. And when it leaves, it will also take away Ani, the cartographer, Tai, his fellow Cyclops crew member; it'll take away Hassan and Markus from the uninfected crew, who had stayed for sheer curiosity.

Jia is staying. Ryley doesn't think she could be pried away with a crowbar. Ekain, the botanist, would have to be dragged away from his trees and his base on the Floating Island. Vivec, not entirely sure of his future, is staying for now, will decide during the next rotation in a year's time; Cora, the third uninfected crew member, has found enough delight in studying the geology of the planet to last a lifetime.

From nine, down to five. But from five, up to twenty-seven properly, perhaps fifty-something while infrastructure is set up. Their family is growing, even as other parts of it move on.

"Yeah, we're good," Hassan nods with a strained smile. "Now I get to stop playing Dodge The Reaper and start playing Dodge The Academic Advisor."

Ryley chuckles. "I'd prefer the reapers, honestly."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too."

Everything will change, now. They'll be going from a handful of survivors sticking it out on a near-deserted planet to a fully-fledged research station, from rebellion to legitimacy.

Bart has promised that much.

Jia wanders in, a PDA in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other; she gives him a grin. "Finally got out of the water, Ryley?" she teases, and he smiles back.

"Yup. You finally thawed out?"

She laughs. "Yeah. Stars, I can't wait for that xenolinguist to get here. Alan is a tough nut to crack."

"I can't believe we met an intelligent space-faring alien and their name is _Alan_."

"I mean. 'Al-An', if we're being pedantic. I just call them 'Alan' because it annoys them."

Ryley raises an eyebrow. "And you wonder why they don't talk to you much?"

They're not alone on the planet, no. Ryley still isn't sure how he feels about one of the precursors, one of the aliens that kept the Sea Emperor prisoner, still being around, and he also can't deny that it's the biggest discovery since humanity first left Earth.

He's so eternally grateful that Alterra won't be getting its hands on them.

The room is filling up. Ekain has finally dragged himself in from the other island, Tai has dragged her bags in from her room. Ryley, deep in conversation with Vivec and Tai over what the latter will be doing next, glances up as the control panel lets out a beep; the room seems to ripple as everyone jumps to attention.

"Transport ship _Tsetseg_ from the Mongolian Independent States, requesting permission to land."

The smile practically splits Jia's face. " _Tsetseg_ , this is 4546B Mountain Base. Come on down!"

They've migrated outside, standing well back from the landing pad, watching the speck that is the ship. Ryley glances at the inactive weapon rising inexorably to his right, is half holding his breath, the tiniest, faintest hint of fear of a repetition of the Aurora crash settling beneath his ribs.

It stays silent and dark. The speck grows, shapes itself into a ship. Ryley shades his eyes with one hand, unable to stop his smile, unable to stop himself bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

The ship looks much smaller in person, settled on the landing pad like a bird. Ryley can barely believe it holds over fifty people and a snow stalker, that it holds all the infrastructure to help turn their makeshift bases into proper, functioning labs and work spaces and homes.

_Homes_ , because this is his world, now.

The crew have busied themselves, spilling out of the shuttle, setting crates and equipment on the tracks that'll transport them straight into their storage area. Ryley keeps his eyes fixed to the passenger entrance, waiting, waiting -

The snow stalker is the first out. Bounds out, gallops up the dock. Ryley takes an alarmed step back as it zeroes in on him - and then it's zipping past, making for a tree, and raising a leg.

There are a few snickers from the others. Ryley swaps a grin with Vivec, then looks up in time to see the first passengers beginning to wind their way up to the beach.

Bart is there. Ryley finds a smile crossing his face, automatic and involuntary. Bart looks cheerful and relaxed as he chats to a wry Marguerit Maida, glances over his shoulder to say something to -

It's all he can do to not rush all the way up the dock, to fling himself at them. Behind Bart and Marguerit, following close behind, looking healthy, happy, and smiling, are Ozzy and Alastair.

He doesn't let go for a very, very long time.

 

Ryley has never felt so torn.

On the one hand, he hasn't seen Ozzy and Alastair for so long he's almost forgotten what a comfortable presence they are. They had helped him through the worst of the infection, had encouraged him, had given him love and care and focus.

But there's also Bart, and Bart is _right there_ , and he has yet to figure out how to sit between Ozzy, Alastair, _and_ Bart simultaneously and so has settled just for the first two.

At any rate, Bart is still on the move, explaining their new situation. Their trip back to Mongolian space had been successful, it had seemed; the revelation that he was alive had sent shockwaves through what remained of Torgal Corp, the rumours of Jochi Khasar's fate thick in the air since the news of the Aurora's crash.

Bart had stepped in. Confirmed his father's death and his own survival. Even had Khasar survived, Bart was the true heir of the company, and it had reverted to him.

And Bart had promptly contacted his aunt, younger sister of Paul Torgal. She had been below Khasar in rank when the Degasi had disappeared, had supported him in his position of president. She had assumed, Bart explained, that he had contacted her to request her to be vice president.

He had never wanted the position in the first place. And after the crash, how could he be? He had given her control of the company outright, in exchange for one single planet - 4546B, now legally owned by Torgal Corp given ten years of habitation and colonisation.

He had negotiated with Alterra, too. The Aurora had carried everything needed to build a phasegate, and there the equipment remained. Some damaged, some in need of replacement, but otherwise _there_. He had bought the wreckage of the Aurora and all its cargo outright.

One solar system. One phasegate. It was all they would need to become their own trans-gov. And with it, Bart had explained to them all, came protection.

4546B was no longer an owned asset. It was a world, and Bart would be helping Ryley to mentor and support the young Emperor leviathans until they could claim it for their own, the rightful custodians of the planet.

They were free.

 

"Stars, Maida, did you really have to bring all that booze back?"

"You got a working distillery here?"

"Uh, no."

"Then just enough, I think."

Ozzy leans back and snickers at the exchange between Marguerit and Jia, and Ryley gives him a bemused look. "Is she always like that?" he asks, fighting a grin of his own.

"Let's put it this way," Alastair says gravely from his other side, "Never play drunk strip poker with her. I don't think I've ever seen so many naked people in one place before."

"You should have seen us when we discovered hot springs in the Arctic," Ryley deadpans, then shakes his head. "Man. Bart seems to really like her, at least."

Ozzy and Alastair exchange a knowing smile. Ryley blinks at them both.

"What?"

"Noth-ing," Ozzy sing-songs, "There's certainly nothing to be amused about at you mentioning Bart as often as he mentioned you. Not at all."

The tips of his ears are burning. "Really?"

"Uh, yeah, dude. Do you know how often he asked us about you?" Ozzy shrugs, still grinning. "Seriously, there's something there."

(Cheeks, too. His cheeks are definitely burning.)

"So, uh," he ventures cautiously, "It's mutual, huh?"

Ozzy nods. "Yeah. And I think it's about time you two talk face to face."

"You only just got here," Ryley says, and it's hesitant, that indecision, that not wanting to leave two of the most people in his life but wanting to find that new connection, too. "Is that... okay?"

He helped save a world while dying. Talking to an attractive man, however...

Alastair puts a grave hand on Ryley's shoulder, and Ryley marvels at the change, marvels at him, at the way he's gone from fear to confidence. Clearly working with Ozzy to start their own restaurant instead of being forced into a career he's never wanted has done wonders for him. "We're going to be here for over a month while they're doing the building, and once the gate is in, we can visit any time. We'll have plenty of time to spend together. Go talk to him."

Ryley rests his hand on Alastair's own for a lingering moment, squeezes Ozzy's hand with his other, and walks away.

 

It's raining.

They're common this time of the year. Downpours that come in quickly then retreat again, leaving the vegetation of the island sparkling like it's been dipped in diamond dust. Eleven years ago, one of them had triggered a landslide that had buried Bart's first habitat on the other island; now, Bart is sitting cross-legged beneath an awning, a sleeping Mister Cuddles resting his head in his lap, and gazing out at the rain.

"When did you know?" Bart asks as Ryley settles next to him. "That you wanted to stay?"

Ryley thinks back for a moment, then huffs a surprised laugh. "I was sitting on the sea floor in the kelp forest," he says, "Playing fetch with a stalker and hanging out with a little hoverfish. And I was listening to your recordings."

Bart blinks.

"You were talking about how lucky you were to be able to see the world up close," he adds, and this time, Bart chuckles himself.

"Back on the island, I wouldn't have believed the creatures living down there," he recites, and after all this time hearing the recordings in Mongolian, the English sounds almost jarring to Ryley's ear. "Yeah. Yeah, I stand by that, too."

Ryley grins. "I'm not sure if it was just my translation software, but you said something about co-evolution giving you the fuzzies."

"...I did say that, didn't I?"

He smiles again, and it drifts away. "But yeah, I had been thinking. I had this perfect snapshot of you at nineteen, and I was wondering what you would be like if you had survived - which, well, I know you did _now_ , but I didn't then, and... yeah." He trails off, shakes his head. "And what would happen to me if I survived, too. Thinking about what it would be like, if I went back to Alterra. And I was thinking - how could I, after everything I've seen on this world?"

"After being a part of it," Bart says, and nods. "I know. I couldn't have gone back to being the CEO of a mining company. Like you said. How could I? When I found Marguerit again, she had thought only she had survived and wanted to find a way off the planet. But we've managed pretty well, surviving here. And at some point, it turned from 'surviving here' to 'living here'."

Mister Cuddles lets out a sleepy wuffling sound at Marguerit's name; Bart chuckles.

"I'm glad I'm able to live here." Ryley gazes out at the rain, already starting to taper off; he can see the sun through the clouds. "I missed Ozzy and Alastair, but once the gate is built, I can see them whenever we want. I have friends here. I have the Babies. I can help them grow and become happy and healthy. I have all the wildlife here, and it's this world, this _sky_ , I never thought I had." He pulls in a deep breath, then carefully, delicately, sets his hand over Bart's.

"I have you."

Bart blinks slowly, then turns his wrist so his hand is palm-up, and entangles their fingers together.

"Yeah," Bart says, and there's a faint smile on his face. "You do. You did what I couldn't, and you saved this world for us."

"For us," Ryley echoes, feeling half stupefied, like he's been smacked over the head with something hard. "Yeah. I - for us."

Words have never been his strongest skill. He kisses Bart instead, and that's a vocabulary he knows he can speak with.

Bart is pink when they draw apart; he lets out a laugh, brushing a hand through his hair. "Well, thank stars _one_ of us made the first move! I think Marguerit and Ozzy were actually taking bets on who it'd be. We can tell them later," he adds; bumps his shoulder against Ryley's. "There's no rush. We have all the time in the world."

"I like the sound of that," Ryley says, and leans in for another.

The rain slows, stops. The clouds part, and the sun comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I know updates became pretty inconsistent over the past several months, but I'm so grateful to all who stuck with it.
> 
> Also, for more stories about survival and hard-earned happy endings, go read Survivors by leoxxii because it's fabulous.


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